Blood Wars
by kydasam
Summary: SLASHVHC,VHD, OC Sequel to Hide and Seek. The Order must go into Hell itself to fight the monsters unleashed on it. Carl and Van Helsing descend to Hell to battle once again with their worst enemies. PG13 for violence and slash relationship COMPLETED.
1. Default Chapter

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel

**Series/Sequel: Sequel to _Hide and Seek_**

Summary: The war has started–Gabriel and Carl scout the enemy and discover the doorway to Hell

Notes: Woof! Thank you for your patience–I just got back from vacation (had a lovely time at Disney!) So the chapters should be coming now fairly quickly

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Special thanks to my reviewers. You folks write the story, actually, I just put it down on paper! My thanks to reviewers: ****Iblis,****Verona Dracula, ****Fluffy Vampire, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Chibi-Kaz, ****Curious Dream Weaver, and ****Jania. I would reply individually, but Fanfiction has sanctioned individual responses.**

* * *

**Blood Wars  
**

"_**No! Carl! Look out!"**_

Van Helsing threw himself forward, his arms going about Carl's waist to drag him to the ground. Above them, the large clawed paw of the demon slashed at the empty air where Carl had stood seconds before.

The demon had no difficulty keeping track of them with its three heads—that of a lion, a sharp-horned goat, and a hissing serpent. The black eyes narrowed within its leonine head as it watched the two men roll at its feet. A deafening scream from the goat's head made them clap their hands over their ears while they scrambled to dodge the gout of fire that belched out of the serpent's mouth. The beast wasn't very intelligent but it more than made up for that deficiency with sheer size. Well over eight feet tall and as broad across as two men standing side-by-side, its dusky red lion's body bulged with heavy rippling muscles beneath a thin scattering of black hair.

"What the Hell _is _that thing?" Van Helsing panted as he and Carl avoided an almost playful swipe of the heavy paw by rolling frantically over the dirty stones. They were back in the catacombs, scouting a way to the door of Hell and finding it very heavy going. The number of monsters appeared to have increased threefold and all of them were protecting the gateway to their home with a daunting dedication.

"Chimera," Carl gasped as he was dragged backwards by Van Helsing, his legs pistoning in an attempt to regain his footing. Stumbling to his feet, he threw himself backwards against the rough wall, sucking in his breath to avoid the bolt of lightening the lion's head spat at him.

"Damned thing's huge," Van Helsing growled, eyeing the monstrous hybrid ruefully as he noted that the two dozen or so arrows in its hide and the flash burns from Carl's gun had done little more than annoy the beast. "How do we kill it?"

"W..well, in Greek mythology, Bellopheron killed it with a sword..."

Eyeing the monster belching fire and lightening at him, Van Helsing raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh huh... Any other suggestions?"

"A strategic retreat?" Carl puffed, sidling closer to Van Helsing. "How do we get past it?"

The monster before them paused, all three heads eyeing them cannily, then sidled slightly to one side of the corridor, as if taunting them by offering an escape route.

"Lord, I hate a cheeky monster!" Carl growled, ignoring the snort of stifled laughter from Van Helsing.

The monster's smokey breath hitched in several short puffs that looked remarkably as if the beast was laughing as well. Carl's eyes narrowed, he took two steps to the right and watched the monster casually mimic his action, stopping when Carl did so that they once again faced one another.

"I think this one fancies you too," Van Helsing murmured as he edged to the left, raising both eyebrows when the Chimera ignored him. "It does indeed."

"Lovely...think he likes friars in general or does he just think I look particularly toothsome?"

"Most likely it's his master who thinks you're toothsome," Van Helsing muttered, growling when the lion's head turned toward him and the great reddish muzzle seemed to curl up into a smile. He was rapidly revising his estimation of the beast's intelligence and judging by the dismay in the friar's expression, so was Carl.

Reaching out, Van Helsing snagged Carl's sleeve, pulling the friar to him. They both stepped back as the monster took one step forward, its heads swaying and twining as all six eyes flicked from one man to the other warily.

"I think if we can't go forward, we should consider going back," the hunter spoke carefully as he backed up, pulling Carl with him. The monster paced them easily. Van Helsing eyed it with a wry quirk of the lips. "All right, not backwards then." Grimly, Van Helsing released Carl's arm, moving away from him. "Carl...when I give the signal, dodge to your right and try to get by."

"What!" Carl squeaked, his jaw falling, eyes flying to the hunter in dismay.

"Trust me," Van Helsing voice grated hoarsely. A sheen of sweat slicked his skin and Carl could see the hunter's body shook with a fine palsy.

"Er...Gabriel..."

The eyes that the hunter turned to Carl were a vivid green and held a feral ferocity that made Carl's breath catch. "Now, _do it_, _Carl_!" Van Helsing growled, his upper lip lifting to reveal rapidly descending fangs.

"Oh God!" Carl yelped and blindly turning, darted at the Chimera, dodging its swiping paw to lunge at the wall to the right of it. The heads turned to watch him, both paws swept inward as the monster reared, attempting to gather him up in its claws. Carl fell back against the rough stone wall, his wide blue eyes darted to Van Helsing, and he gasped.

Forgotten by the Chimera, the hunter's head was thrown back as his body jerked and then seemed to stretch before splitting asunder. From out of the collapsing husk of his lover, a massive wolf-like beast emerged, shaking its black glistening pelt of fur as if to rid itself of the last distasteful vestiges of humanity. It stood on its hind legs, its front legs ended in dark tapered fingers with blood red claws. From its back, tremendous black leathery wings emerged with a tearing sound and the wolf snarled, snapping its jaws at the air.

It turned immediately upon the Chimera, dropping down onto all fours to gather its muscles in flexing bunches before springing up into the air. The wings flared out, cupping the air in an explosive retort before folding to send the beast diving on the 3-headed monster.

Only the snake's head left the pursuit of Carl to look back at the noise behind it, and it was this head that the werewolf attacked, landing on the Chimera's back, its jaws darted forward to fasten on the scaled neck. With a snapping shake, the jaws tightened and tore the snake from the Chimera's body amidst a fountaining gout of black blood.

Now the other two heads turned to face their attacker, the lion's jaws gaped to bathe its own back in fire as the goat's head shrieked and spat smoke.

Within the billowing clouds of greasy smoke, Carl saw the _were_ spring into view, its wings stroking the air with thunderous retorts as it reoriented in midair, then dived at the lion's head.

The Chimera dropped and rolled, trying to bring its massive claws to bear as it continued to spit fire and smoke, leaving Carl to peer into the obscuring clouds pulsing with red fire, trying to pierce the murk so that he could tell who was winning.

The noise was tremendous and the friar shuddered to hear the obvious sounds of bloody agony in the roared death keenings. He prayed that those noises did not come from Van Helsing.

Sidling away, he put several yards of distance between himself and the two monsters, his arms folding about himself in a fierce hug as the sounds of battle slowly ebbed, then died. The corridors were thick with choking smoke and the scent of blood and charred flesh. Small fires, feeding on nauseating clumps of fuel that Carl didn't want to look too closely at illuminated the corridor in a flickering red light.

He heard the sound of something moving, of hoarse, heavy breathing. A dark shape appeared as a shadow within the clouds and Carl steeled himself, his fingers clenched on the brown stuff of his robe over his ribs until he heard the material tear. His eyes strained to make out the shape and he caught his breath in a half-realized groan of gratitude as the werewolf slid out of the haze.

The beast approached him on all fours, its wings flexing along its back, its red jaws hanging agape as it panted in loud hoarse gusts that made Carl's robe flatten against his body and his hair fly about. He forced himself to stand very still, holding his own breath, his eyes never leaving the green gaze. It walked with its head hung low, ears flat, muzzle wrinkled to reveal stained fangs. He could hear the scrape and click of its claws on the gritty stone and shivered.

It walked slowly, wary in its approach, until it stood before him, its face level with his own. He could see its wet nose move as it scented him, see the gleaming whiskers twitching on the soft flesh of the muzzle that wrinkled to reveal fangs and then relaxed when it thrust its great black head forward until the questing nose was no more than inches from his body.

Swallowing harshly against the sandpaper dryness of his throat, Carl forced his arms to move from their self-protecting hug, allowing one to drop to his side and the other to lift slowly outward, hand extended. He was shuddering so hard his breath emerged in ragged gasps, the memory of Anna's body was firmly fixed in his mind as he reached out toward the wolf.

For a moment, he saw the muzzle flicker again and a rumbling growl emerged as the wings lifted and extended fully, curling forward so that they almost surrounded Carl, and then folded.

With a huff of hot moist air that blew Carl's hair back, the wolf leaned forward and pushed its head under Carl's hand, then sank down onto the ground, laying its head on his feet.

Carl blinked, his mouth falling open in an "_o_" of surprise, and he felt his knees give way to dump him ungracefully onto the ground beside the wolf. The monster's eyes rolled over to fix on him with a look of almost brotherly commiseration. He found his hands, without his conscious volition, moving to touch and stroke the glossy black pelt, grimacing when he felt wet patches that stained his hands red.

"Oh Gabriel," he sighed, and leaned forward, sliding his arms about the muscular neck to press his face into the dark fur. He heard the start of a rumble welling up within the massive chest, and then it dimmed and stopped and only the wolf's panting remained.

vv

Carl lay beside the werewolf for some time, taking comfort in the warm fur and the heat of its body. Occasionally, the wolf's wet rough tongue would flick out to lick his arm and he would rub his face in the fur on the great neck beneath his cheek. He wasn't sure how much of Gabriel remained in the beast, but it hadn't killed him, he had to assume a fair amount. He knew that the hunter would be appalled at Carl's hit-or-miss outlook on life but he really didn't see that there was any other alternative.

When the wolf moved, struggling up to its feet, Carl reluctantly rose as well. Despite the teaming hordes that they had encountered on their way through the catacombs, it struck Carl that nothing was likely to accost them now. He began to wonder if there was anything in the catacombs as bad as a hybrid werewolf with the intelligence of a vampire and suspected there was not. Shivering, he lay his hand on the beast's hot fur and winced as the great head swung about so that the green gaze could fix him. This close, looking at it in the eye, he had to admit that it was truly a horrific beast. As if sensing his thoughts, the _were_'s gaze dropped as did its head.

With a huffing sigh, it led the way, padding on all fours through the carnage that littered the corridor. Carl kept his eyes resolutely up and straight ahead, his hand firmly anchored in the _were_'s fur, ignoring the disgusting squelching beneath his sandals. None of the heretofore multitudinous beasts appeared to block their way, for which Carl was profoundly grateful. They collected Gabriel's crossbow and his own tojo gun–he managed to balance them with the help of a sling on the back of the _were_–an indignity that it seemed to suffer with resigned grace.

"Well, it makes better sense this way," he admonished it, noting its flattened ears and flickering muzzle. "Don't worry, I can release them easily if we have to fight. And you really do have the better build for this sort of thing."

A huff of moist hot air that blew his hair back in a frenzy was the only reply made. Absently, he patted the dark fur, threading his fingers through it again. "All right, then. I suppose we'd best press on?" He held the retrieved torch high to light their way and together they stepped out.

Their gritty footsteps and the snapping noises of the flames consuming the wood brand he held aloft were the only sounds now. Evidently, bad news like Gabriel spread fast, even among monsters. Carl couldn't help but agree as he nervously paced the _were_, watching its massive head move to and fro, lifting to scent the air, a low rumbling growl constantly thrumming through its body and filling the air with the feeling of suppressed thunder.

"A..are we far from the doorway now?" he whispered, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance they seemed to have struck between themselves and the denizens of the catacombs. The _were_ made no answer, but it did pick up speed slightly, forcing Carl to jog. "Ah...I'll take that as a yes," the friar panted and clung more tightly to the black fur.

They emerged from the claustrophobic confines of the corridor into a large open area and Carl winced as he saw the literal hordes assembled, waiting silently. There were beasts everywhere he looked, their glowing eyes and parted jaws flickering in the torchlight as they stood waiting, facing the pair that emerged from the tunnels. Looking at them, Carl recognized the beasts he had personally fought, both on the ground and from the top of the Borgia Tower. And there were others, hybrids much more exotic than Gabriel's mutation, to which he couldn't even begin to put a name.

They all waited, silent, still as grave markers, ignoring one another as they watched the _were_ slowly lead Carl into the great chamber. He could feel the dark fur beneath his hand grow harsh, spiking outward while the great leathery wings unfurled, covering them both. He shivered as the leathery skin of the wing touched his cheek and he found it cold as death. Carl wondered if the beasts recognized the _were_ as an outsider or if they believed he was one of their own.

They paced forward, and as they approached the waiting ranks, the Hell beasts rose and backed away, watchful, wary, not retreating but not offering any sort of a fight either. Why should they? He and Gabriel were going where the master of these beasts wished them to go–to Hell itself. He suspected that their departure would not be so uneventful.

He could feel his skin prickling within the miasma of evil, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose and his body grew cold as the blood retreated to nourish and fuel his organs and muscles for the coming battle. He stayed close to Gabriel now, pressed firmly against the _were_'s side, welcoming the wing that curled about him. As the monsters parted, he began to see that the chamber was lit, the source of the light becoming apparent as they progressed.

It was a massive crack in the ground, like a ruptured boil from which spilled an actinic light that seared his eyes. Squinting at it, he marveled at the heat that poured from it, wondering how they would approach. He could feel his skin shrink from the thought, but the _were_ still paced forward and he followed, now welcoming the cold of the leathery wing against his burning flesh.

They got within a dozen feet of the crack when Carl gasped with actual pain and the _were_ stopped, turning its head to look at the man with a thoughtful gaze. Then the _were_ was rising and Carl fell back as the beast stood erect on its hind legs, looking down at him with its head cocked slightly to one side, its wings beating rhythmically, summoning a whistling wind that stirred the dust of the chamber into whirlwinds and caused Carl's hair and robe to flap about violently. Carl squinted up at the green eyes, waiting breathlessly.

In one motion, the _were_ stooped, catching the man up within its muscular forelegs, pulling him into its hirsute chest as the wings cupped the air and lifted them. With a clap like thunder striking, they were suddenly arrowing over the heads of the assembled monsters with a velocity that made the hot close air scream within Carl's ears. And then they were out of the main chamber, the heat of Hell's doorway falling behind and the sound of the horde pursuing them now loud in the confined corridor.

The _were_'s wings stroked strongly, never faltering, its head was angled forward, its body with Carl held close, streamlined beneath the wings so that the air slipped over their bodies as they cut through it. Carl risked one look below them and moaned, shutting his eyes against the flowing grey blur of stone and broken floors. The _were_ banked, angling around corners like a snake, and always behind them the roar and pounding of their pursuers. The friar prayed fervently that Gabriel's careening course didn't end up at a dead end.

He didn't know how far they'd come, nor what direction they followed. He was only aware of the thunder of the wings above them, the flexing of the muscular chest against his body, and the sound of the horde beneath them.

When they broke out of the catacombs and into the great hall of the Palace, Carl gasped with a shock that struck him like a physical blow. The armies of the Vatican were below them, facing the entry to the catacombs. They fell back in the wake of the _were_ like scattering chaff, then regrouped as the horde poured out like blood from the darkness.

Carl had time to register an ear popping vacuum as the _were_ abruptly back-winged, hovering over the astonished faces of the men below for a split second, and then the friar was falling, curling into as tight a ball as he could compact his body into, feeling himself strike the softness of flesh and the hardness of metal. His descent bowled over the ranks of men at the back of the hall and he winced and groaned with each impact. Almost before he had settled, though, he was forcing himself up onto his feet in time to see the _were_ shake itself, dislodging the weapons from its back, and then the wings beat again to throw the _were_ into the midst of the fighting.

"Don't shoot it! It's a friend!" Carl cried, waving his arms in horror as he saw weapons raised to sight the new enemy that had appeared in their midst. "Don't shoot for God's sake!"

He heard his words repeated in shouts that raced through the great hall even as he felt the familiar bulk of the automatic crossbow being pressed into his hands. He accepted it blindly and ran forward, groaning as he felt the stitches in his belly and shoulder pull and stretch with a vengeance. Throwing the crossbow to his shoulder, Carl sighted on the first monster he saw and fired, wincing again as the crossbow kicked back against his shoulder even as he crowed with exultation to see his bolts stitch across the monster's exposed chest, downing it immediately.

Above him, he heard the _were_'s snarls and the snapping of its jaws, a red rain of blood and hurtling bodies a testament to the ariel battle he couldn't afford to watch.

They fought the horde for what felt like hours; always, Carl was aware of the _were_ above him, guarding him, fending off the attackers that would have plucked him up from the ground. Benerd found Carl, appearing at his side with the tojo gun and a grim expression. Carl smiled at the monk, grateful for his presence as the man sighted and fired almost continuously. Men fell all around them, and they were always replaced with new grim faces that pushed forward, driving the horde back into the catacombs until at last only the much-diminished army of men stood swaying on the blood soaked stones of the great vestibule. The dark mouth of the catacombs had swallowed the horde again and the massive doors were closed and bolted.

Carl looked up then, frowning when he didn't see the _were_ above him. He'd lost track–a seeming impossibility given the bulk of the creature, but now he cast about them uneasily, growing more frantic with every second.

Catching at the shoulder of Benerd's robe, Carl hauled on it, dragging the white-faced monk about to face him. "Benerd...where is Gabriel?" Carl gasped.

"Gabriel?" Benerd blinked stupidly for several agonizing seconds before awareness filtered into the bemused blue gaze. "Ah...I...I believe he went..." Benerd pointed, down the hallway leading to the Order's sleeping chambers.

Carl spared a quick smile of thanks before he turned and ran, pushing his way through the crowd, ignoring the sound of his name being called from all over the hall. He broke through and lengthened his stride, pushing himself as he pelted down the hallway, sandals slapping rhythmically on the stone floor, his breathing loud and labored.

He slid up to the door of his chamber, catching at the latch like an anchor, throwing it open and himself into the room. His darting eyes immediately registered the sight of Van Helsing, lying naked on his bed, white and still as death.

Thrusting the door shut behind him, Carl bolted it, then approached the bed to sink heavily onto it at Van Helsing's hip. His hand trembled when he raised it and he looked at it stupidly for a moment before mentally shrugging and settling it on the cold skin of the hunter's belly. Gently, he stroked the soft skin and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the rise and fall of Van Helsing's breathing.

Toeing off his sandals, Carl swung his legs up onto the bed and with a weariness made grateful with relief, he snuggled up against Van Helsing, laying his head on the strong shoulder, his hand over the thudding heart, and closed his eyes. They would sleep now, there would be plans made later now that they had the information they needed. Now, all Carl wanted for himself and the man he loved was rest and the security of their arms about one another.

The war could wait. TBC 


	2. Blood Wars Part 2

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
**Series/Sequel: Sequel to _"Discovery an Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"  
_**Summary: The first council of war is held and plans are made–sort of  
Notes: Thank you, Chibi Kaz, for letting me know what needed to be fixed. It's much appreciated!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Mmmmm! Lots of lovely reviews makes Kyda a _very_ happy writer! Many thanks to reviewers Jania, Iblis, ****Curious Dream Weaver, ****Chaosdreamer, ****Luthien, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Chibi Kaz, ****Verona Dracula, ****Fluffy Vampire.**

* * *

**Blood Wars 2**

Carl leaned on one elbow, chin in hand, his body in a relaxed "S" about the man asleep beside him. It was early in the morning, the air was still the pale blue that marks the transition between night and daylight and there was a pleasant nip to it that made the warmth he and Van Helsing shared a pleasure. The friar had a silly smile on his face, though if he had been told of it, most likely he would have said that it wasn't silly, just infatuated. He'd spent the last half hour awake, comfortably reclined, watching Van Helsing sleep. His free hand lightly stroked and petted the sleeping man–a lock of long dark hair was wound around a finger, the warm lips were softly outlined, the hollow of Van Helsing's throat was duly appreciated, and now his chest was being explored with loving attentiveness.

Carl was being careful not to wake the other man, but he couldn't help wishing Gabriel _would_ open his eyes. They'd had so little time together. True, they fought side by side, and Gabriel had stayed with him while he was recuperating, but they hadn't had any time to simply talk of the inconsequential things that couples shared without thought. After so long apart, it was hard now not to be greedy for every second, to want to fit as much life as possible into each precious moment before it was torn away. He was the first to admit that he didn't want flowers and bon bons, but Carl craved conversation and closeness with this man like he needed air. He needed _quality_ time. Not so much to ask, really.

Idly, with his lips curving in an unconcious smile, he allowed his fingers to stray to one side of Gabriel's chest, to finger a warm dark nipple. Obligingly, the nub hardened beneath his fingers and Gabriel murmured in his sleep, his dark head tossing on the thin pillow.

"You like that, hmm?" Purring, Carl leaned down to kiss the nub. At the moist touch of his lips, Van Helsing's breath caught and Carl smiled as he licked the warm flesh, sucking it lightly.

Above him, he heard Van Helsing's breath catch again and then his deep voice resonated in the chest beneath Carl's lips. "I like your idea of a wakeup call," the hunter murmured and shivered.

"Mmmm, so do I," Carl admitted. "I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."

"Silly me–sleeping when I could be enjoying this." Van Helsing stirred, his body stretching as his arms moved to encircle Carl, allowing his fingers to comb through the shiny blond hair.

Carl nuzzled at Van Helsing's chest, kissing the swollen flesh before looking up with a pleased smile. "Shall I carry on? Or do you want to stop so we can get washed up for our meeting with the Cardinal?"

The sleepy smile and appreciative purr assured him Van Helsing was more than agreeable to carrying on; the hunter's arms about the friar were already pulling him up to nuzzling lips. "I want a proper kiss, first," he purred as he settled Carl on his pillow then toed the sheet and blankets down to their feet. Like a warm blanket, he settled over Carl so that they were in contact from head to toe.

Leaning forward, with his elbows on either side of Carl's shoulders, Van Helsing pressed his mouth to the friar's in a light, ghosting kiss that just barely rubbed their lips together. When Carl's breath caught and he lifted his head to deepen the kiss, Van Helsing's hands caught and gently pushed him back down.

"Ah ah! You've had your fun, now it's my turn."

"Ohhh...," Carl breathed, the wonder in his blue eyes brought a smile to his lover's face.

Van Helsing lowered his head again, rubbing Carl's lips with his own, allowing his tongue to emerge just enough to trail over Carl's to moisten them slightly. The friar shuddered and his eyes closed as his hands rose to stroke along his lover's ribs and hips.

"Do you like that?" Van Helsing whispered against Carl's mouth and smiled when he felt a shiver run through the body beneath his.

"Oh yes," the friar nodded, his own tongue flicking out to lick the moisture from his lips. "Please..."

"Please?"

"More," Carl breathed, his arms circling the ribs he had been stroking in a firm hug.

Lowering his head again, Van Helsing kissed Carl's cheeks, then nuzzled the side of his nose before moving to his closed eyelids. Each fragile shell was tinged the palest possible blue and fanned with long silky eyelashes. When he pressed a moist kiss on first one and then the other, nuzzling into the hollow at the corner of each eye, Carl shivered again, stronger this time. Making note of the favorable reaction for future explorations, Van Helsing nibbled his way down Carl's cheekbone, touching his tongue to the friar's right ear before wetly taking the lobe into his mouth.

"Ohhhh myyyy God," Carl breathed and shuddered violently as his legs opened and curled about the hunter's. Urgently, his hands flew to Van Helsing's face and drew it back to his mouth and strong wet kisses.

The soft sounds of their kisses and murmurs of pleasure grew louder and more intense as their bodies began to move with one another, seeking a closeness they hadn't shared in two months. Warm intimate places rubbed silkenly together, words of love were whispered, and new pleasure was found in the connection they had been so long without. When they came, they were locked together, their mouths pressed so tightly to one another that their cries of exultation were swallowed like the finest wine.

Floating within the white haze of their euphoria, they petted and nuzzled one another, gently easing each other back down to a delicious langour that left them sated and content. With a motion like that of a large cat stretching every muscle beneath a rippling pelt, Van Helsing slid off Carl, rolling in the rumpled bed as he pulled Carl up onto his chest. The friar sighed and settled bonelessly with his ear to the other man's heart, his leg between Van Helsing's and his arm settled over his lover's chest to stroke the warm hair and hot skin. They lay quietly for some time watching the sky gradually lighten outside of Carl's open window, each content with the feeling of being loved.

When Carl eventually stirred, it was to nuzzle Van Helsing's breastbone and plant a small kiss over it. "I love to hear your heart beat," he sighed. "I've listened to it so often, it seems like a friend now. Is that silly?"

"No, not silly." The murmur was a resonating vibration in Carl's ear that made the friar squirm and smile.

"You know, we haven't really talked lately...I mean about this attraction. It still seems odd–but it feels wonderful," Carl ventured, and paused, waiting for the other man's reaction.

"Talk about it?"

"Well," Carl hesitated, framing his thoughts. It felt odd, this need to share his feelings. In the past, when he'd bedded his tavern wenches, they'd had a good time and then that had been that. He'd never felt the urge to talk afterwards. Now, he wasn't sure what he was looking for, except he wanted more from Van Helsing. He wanted it all.

"Carl? I know you're not asleep–what are you thinking?"

"Sorry...it's just rather difficult to explain. I just never planned any of this...never had any desire for something like this. But now, it seems it's all I can think of, lately. Does it strike you the same way?"

"Mmm, no, can't say it does."

The friar rolled his eyes and pinched the smooth skin beneath his fingers hard enough to make the hunter jump and squirm.

"_Owch_!" Van Helsing growled, then sighed. "All right, all right! Yes, it strikes me that way too. I know that I enjoyed your company. I used to look for ways to spend time with you, though I didn't know it at the time."

"Look for ways? I never knew. That's..."

"Odd?"

"I was going to say sweet, but odd comes close, too," Carl chuckled, shaking his head. "The idea of the big bad Van Helsing trying to hang about my lab takes a bit of getting used to."

"Hmph. I think you'll find the greater the reputation for being 'big and bad', the more likely that person is to be lonely. Besides, why wouldn't I want to spend time with you? You were the only person I knew who didn't treat me like the son of Satan or some evil monster just waiting to strike."

Carl considered Van Helsing's words as he stroked the tan flesh beneath his fingers. "I think I treated you that way because I enjoyed your company. And, I suppose I enjoyed showing off in front of you."

"You don't say?"

"Hah hah!"

"And now that we're lovers?" the hunter queried, pressing a kiss to Carl's hair. "It still seems odd?"

"Yes, it does. I'm not complaining, absolutely not! But I never pictured this...and you seem to be able to make me feel the most amazing things. You seem to know just what to do to make me howl like a banshee."

"Mmm...you mean like your ear–you enjoy having it licked..."

"God yes," Carl shuddered and buried his face in Van Helsing's chest, blushing as the other man laughed.

"I'll remember. Are there other areas I should be sampling?"

"Oh...,"Carl squirmed, shrugging. "This and that..."

"You'll need to be a little more specific–I seem to have forgotten where 'this and that' are located."

"Actually, just about anything you do feels indecently good," Carl sighed. "I liked your kissing my eyelids... It felt so warm and intimate..not like I expected at all."

"Hmph, never had your eyelids kissed? I thought your doxies were better than that."

"Hah! 'My doxies', as you put it, weren't there to kiss my eyelids, Gabriel. Kissing eyelids is the act of a lover, not a working girl."

"Aahh," Van Helsing exhaled the word like a revelation. "I think, my Carl, that despite your many conquests and your undeniable skill in bed, that you are, after all, a virgin."

"A What!" Carl spluttered, pushing up from Van Helsing's chest to eye the man with a look of amazement. Taking in the smug smile and twinkling eyes, Carl shook his head in amazement. "You have lost it, Gabriel. Certifiably bonko. I assure you I haven't been a virgin since I was...well, let's say in quite some time."

The hunter's hand rose to stroke a stray lock of hair away from Carl's red cheek, his long fingers tangling in the blond strands to draw Carl down for a kiss that lasted many satisfying moments until a mutual need to breathe dragged them apart.

Gasping, with their foreheads pressed against one another, Van Helsing smiled. "Remind me sometime to explore in more depth just what else your lady friends taught you," he chuckled.

"Never mind that," Carl licked his lips and shivered, eyeing Van Helsing's mouth hungrily. "What do you mean by calling me a virgin?"

The other man shrugged. "If you've never been kissed with love...never felt love when finding your pleasure, then you've been missing the best part of being with a lover. It's just sex, then. When you and I are together it's about being in love, caring, and knowing you're a part of someone–that you'll never be alone. I love you, Carl. And every kiss and hug we share comes from that, not just pleasure. That's why I said you were a virgin, because you've never made love before."

"Oh," Carl blinked, then dropped his eyes as a shy smile stole over his kiss-reddened lips. "And you...you're a virgin too?" he asked hopefully.

"I suppose I am," Van Helsing nodded, thoughtfully. "I don't have any memories of this with anyone else. I hope that if I'd felt this before, I would remember it. Or at least this feeling would be familiar."

Carl nodded, biting his lip as he thought about his lover's words before venturing, "Would it be terrible to say...that I hope you've never had this either? That I want to be your first?"

"No, not terrible," Van Helsing stroked Carl as he met the blue eyes, "Not terrible at all. I'd like that too."

"Good!" the friar's sudden sunny smile made his lover laugh outright. "And I meant it about no more tavern wenches! I'm your first, and your last. Got it?"

"Got it," the hunter shivered in mock terror. "And you, oh Lord and Master? The same would apply for you?"

"Of course! After making love, do you think I'd settle for just sex?"

"Point well made!" Van Helsing applauded. "Now that we've had our meaningful talk...why don't we try that making love thing again? Just to make sure we've got it right?"

"What about Cardinal Jinette?" Carl asked, batting his eyelashes innocently.

"Let him get a wench," Van Helsing growled and rolled over on top of Carl.

* * *

Jinette smacked his hand down sharply on the library table, scowling when Brother Benerd jumped and then scowling more deeply when the two witches seated at the table did not.

"Where are they? I made it clear that we were meeting here at this hour, did I not?"

"Y..y..y..." Benerd stammered, stopping with relief when Mavis patted his arm.

"Yes, you did," she nodded. "Obviously they were held up. There's no good in getting into a temper about it. They'll come eventually." The witch finished with a smile that had a touch of smug secrecy to it that made Jinette's eyes narrow and Gretchen blush.

"Perhaps I should send Brother Benerd to fetch them," Jinette fretted, deciding to ignore the woman. It was hard enough that Van Helsing had disobeyed his orders concerning the coven without having brought back this sharp-tongued shrew to plague his already nightmarish days. True, the witches had proven helpful in the war with their knowledge of medicine, but he couldn't help feeling ill-at ease around them. Women were for tending to the hearth and producing children to follow in the Lord's ways. Certainly they were never intended to mix in men's business or to take part in a council of war.

Looking up, Jinette frowned at the knowledgeable look in Mavis' eyes. He wouldn't put it past the harridan to be able to read his mind with her black magics. Well, he hoped he'd given her a good mouthful to chew over.

Pacing away from the table, Jinette flicked a finger over the spines of the shelved leather bound books, taking some solace in the fact that not a speck of dust came away from the well-oiled bindings. The Palace was a modern miracle in which he always took pride and delight. Secretly, he hoped that it would cow the witches with the might and majesty of the Holy Church...but he suspected it would take a club and the muscles of an ogre to knock any respect into the older witch.

Mavis watched Jinette with a satisfied smirk. She didn't have to read the man's mind to know what he was thinking, he was so very obvious in his feelings about having mere women–let alone _witches_–within the sacred confines of the See. He was positively archaic in his beliefs. It was such a pleasure to shake his little world, she almost regretted her decision to go with Van Helsing to Hell. Still, work had to come before pleasure. Watching him preen over his library, Mavis suppressed a chuckle as she succumbed to the urge for just a bit more fun.

"This is a fine library, Cardinal," she observed, lifting her chin. "A great deal of knowledge is stored here–a pity more people aren't privy to it. Such a waste."

"Hardly a waste, madame," Jinette sniffed. "I assure you that the best scholars in the world have made excellent use of it as well as contributing to it."

"Hmph, fine men indeed, but I was thinking more of the men and women whose fine minds go to waste because they cannot read. Or, if they can read, are not welcome here because they are only humble villagers. Indeed, I believe your Inquisition frowns on the common folk seeking too much knowledge, do they not?"

"You are mistaken, madame," Jinette averred firmly. "Knowledge is encouraged, it's only the perversion of it that is frowned upon."

"Perversion?" Mavis frowned, her fingers tapping thoughtfully upon the cover of a particularly old and rather graphically illustrated book concerning the deadly sins. "How is knowledge a perversion?"

"When it is used to draw man away from God."

The older witch shrugged, her face an innocent study of confusion. "But if these books reside within your holy Palace, are they not then suitable? If the learned men are allowed to come to study them, are they not equally suitable for the least learned to see as well?"

"I hardly believe that you, given your feelings concerning God and his word, would be in a position to understand this subject. However, it is a fact that these works represent the _studied_ works of man. It requires a finely tuned mind to be able to understand these works–they can easily be misinterpreted by the uninformed.. We would be doing those people no favor by leading them astray."

"Hmph. These books–they say that witches are evil, devil-worshiping cultists, do they not? Your Inquisition has made quite a process of rounding up and dealing with supposed witches. Of course, so many of these evil women are in fact older women whose husbands died during one of the many wars–women with property or with a knowledge of healing. Far better to remove them, that way the Church gets the land and the ignorance of the herd is kept intact. Ja?"

Jinette eyed the woman before him with cold eyes, his hand upon the chairback clenched until his knuckles were white. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm and easy.

"Of course, as I said, the actions of those who are better informed are easily misconstrued by those with less knowledge."

"Ja, I'd imagine so. And as long as that knowledge is never shared, the ignorance will go on."

The opening of the great doors of the library saved Jinette from answering, which suited him very well. He turned to observe with disfavor the entrance of Carl and Van Helsing, noting their smiles for one another and their leisurely approach. It seemed to him that the hunter's company had served to downgrade the friar's performance rather than the reverse. Carl was a reliable and brilliant inventor with unsuspected talents that the Cardinal was just beginning to discover and appreciate. Van Helsing had a great deal to teach Carl, but the man's undeniable heretical tendencies were not the lessons Jinette desired Carl to learn.

Couple that with the regrettable company of the witch...rolling his eyes, Jinette made a mental note to spend a great deal more time with Carl upon his return to counteract the bad company he was, per force, keeping now.

"Ah, good of you to join us," the Cardinal motioned the two men to be seated. "Madame Mavis has just been instructing me in the views of the common man. As enjoyable as that has been, I hope that we can now proceed to more pertinent topics. For instance, something that will prove useful in winning this war would be nice."

Van Helsing smirked as he settled himself in the indicated chair, noting the expression was not lost on Jinette nor did it appear to be appreciated. "Our trip into the catacombs did prove useful, actually," he shrugged with a glance at Carl.

"Oh yes, definitely useful," Carl hurried to pacify the prelate. "We've found the doorway, as you know, and gotten a good look at the beasts down there."

"So you mentioned," Jinette stalked about the table to seat himself at the head, his hands coming to rest on the polished surface. "Go on with your news-there _is_ more, yes? You've deduced something from what you observed beyond the mere presence of the door?"

Leaning forward, the tone of banter dropping from Van Helsing's voice with his reply. "We did discover more. The beasts–they're all run-of-the-mill monsters, nothing special at all. The cambion wants to make our lives difficult, but he's not trying to destroy us. He wants to punish rather than eradicate the Order."

"He's doing a good job of making our lives a living Hell," Jinette sniffed, but his tone and expression were thoughtful. "What you say is true, though. The beasts we have seen, they harry and beleaguer us, but we have been able to handle them well enough."

"He's either holding back, or else that's all he can summon," Van Helsing murmured as he turned his thoughtful gaze to Carl. "Also, the closer we got to the doorway, the less we had to battle. I got the impression he wanted to make it difficult, but not impossible. I think he wants us to go through the door–maybe even to find him."

"Why?" Carl stirred in his chair, turning to face the hunter. He remembered the battles they had fought to make their way through the catacombs. It had seemed quite enough of a challenge to him; he didn't want to imagine what it might have been like if those monsters weren't the worst they would face.

"Carl, you know who the cambion is," Van Helsing addressed the friar directly now, holding his eyes with an almost apologetic air. "Paul...the same monster who has expressed an interest in you. He's sent beasts to take you from us–it's not so far fetched that he's given the guardians of the door orders not to harm you...to allow you to come to him."

"Oh! That makes sense!" Benerd exclaimed, then blushed when the others looked his way.

"Don't be embarrassed, you are right," Mavis chided the monk with a smile, "It does make sense. Just as it makes sense that he would have given the monsters instructions to make it easier for Carl to approach him, it also makes sense that these beasts would protect Carl from those others that were not sent by the cambion. You said it got easier the closer you got, it would make no sense otherwise. There should be more battles to be fought as you draw closer to Hell's doorway, not less. The battles should be fiercer rather than easier. Unless, as you say, they were not meant to stop you."

"Then why fight us at all?" Carl asked, turning from one face to the next. "Why the fights in the catacombs at all?"

"To keep everyone but you back," Van Helsing mused. "Or else perhaps Paul's hold on the monsters wanes as the distance between them and himself increases. Whatever the reason, it means that our trip to see Paul may be easier than we might have thought. As long as Carl is with us, that is."

"Can't say I like that much," Carl swallowed with a look of disgust on his face.

"Nor I," Van Helsing admitted. "But I can't leave you here–he's already sent monsters to try to take you. You're safer with us."

The friar sat up straight, fixing the hunter with a steely gaze. "I have no intentions of being left behind, safer or not. Don't forget, I can be quite handy in a fight. If Paul thinks he's getting a meek little friar, more fool him!"

"That's the spirit!" Benerd applauded, beaming at the assemblage.

Carl nodded firmly, turning to Mavis. "So, what do we need to prepare for our little trip to Bugbear Land? I have some ideas–for instance it's in several texts that we'll need to get past a three-headed dog guarding the gate to Hell-Cerberus. We can do that with honey cakes or music, as I recall. Then we'll need to cross the Archeron River. There's supposed to be a ferryman there if the myths are right..."

"Charon," Mavis supplied with a frown. "An old gaunt man who takes the departed souls across the first obstacle on their journey to Hell. He charges a golden coin for their passage–but he will not take living souls. Not normally, in any case," she mused thoughtfully, tapping her chin.

Van Helsing leaned forward to look over Carl's shoulder, watching the witch closely. Carl surreptitiously leaned back slightly, so that his back pressed against Van Helsing's chest and he felt the hunter's thumb run over his bicep in return.

Mavis' eyes turned to Jinette as a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Of course, in my wanderings through your many learned books," she gestured, lifting an eyebrow at the frown that tugged at Jinette's brows, "I have found mention of an herb that pacifies the dead. I believe it will do as well for the ferryman. It's called Golden Bough..."

"Mistletoe!" Gretchen exclaimed and turned to the befuddled men. "According to Greek mythology, it's supposed to be taken from the tree that was sacred to Juno Inferno or Proserpina. The method of harvesting it is written as:

_And mistletoe is ever harvested in this way, situated between heaven and earth, never allowed to touch the ground but cut by pith scythe and caught on white cloth._

"We use it regularly as a medicine. It's also called _Viscum _or _All Heal_. I don't know about the necessity to harvest it according to myth, but I have a store of it here, with me now."

"So, we'll need gold coins and mistletoe to cross the river?" Carl murmured as he pulled a book toward himself, removing a scrap of paper that a previous reader had left to mark his place. Benerd hurried over to the desk of the librarian and soon returned with a pen and inkwell, placing them before Carl. As the friar wrote the articles down, he spoke with satisfaction in his voice. "So, that's two hurdles handled. Of course, we have no idea how deeply into Hell Paul is, do we?" He turned slightly to meet Van Helsing's eyes, restraining the desire to press his lips to the mouth so close to his.

Van Helsing shrugged, shaking his head. "No, he only said that I was responsible for hounding his mother. Mavis, you said that he was the issue of a witch and an incubus. The incubus that Carl destroyed–could that have been his father?"

"Ja, I believe so. They are tied together, I know. It would make sense."

"Can't we assume that the incubus, and possibly his mother, are in Hell? If so, where would they be? He'd be likely to be there too."

"Hmph. I can look into that. I cannot promise how successful I will be–it may have to wait until we are actually in Hell. But I will try. I know his mother's name, I should be able to find her with it."

Van Helsing nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged. "In any case, I have no doubt that Paul will make his presence known to us in his own good time. For the other monsters–the ones that are waiting in Hell for us that he doesn't control..."

"Dracula," Carl muttered and shuddered. "I don't look forward to renewing his acquaintance."

"Nor do I," the hunter admitted. "What can we do to handle him?"

Mavis tapped her thin fingers on the table, her lips pursed. "We have some possible allies in Hell, as odd as that might sound. It is also not impossible that we may be able to call assistance since our cause is just. The presence of two holy men will also go a long way, I believe."

Carl blinked in surprise as Benerd's round visage showed all too clearly his less than sanguine opinion of that possibility.

"Remember, Dracula is as much bound by the laws of Hell as we are," Mavis shook a finger at Benerd's dubious expression. "He will be restrained by what is pure and holy, more so in Hell than outside of it."

"Hmph, I'd rather not have to rely on Carl to hold him back," Van Helsing growled, ignoring Carl's sniff. "You mentioned calling assistance?"

"Ja," Mavis sighed, the word lingering thoughtfully on her tongue. "It is possible that we may be able to call guides to lead us through Hell. As you recall, I have mentioned another cambion to you–one that has magical ties that would cause him to react favorably toward us."

Van Helsing raised a skeptical eyebrow, but he had seen Mavis do many amazing things in the past and was willing to be amazed again. "Can you call him?"

"I can only try," Mavis shrugged. "I don't know how much help he will give us, but it is worth a try."

"Who are you speaking of? You don't plan to call on some type of demon within the Palace itself, do you?" Jinette growled.

"_Nein_," the witch sniffed, waving her hand at the prelate as if to dismiss a bothersome little boy. "We will try to call those who will serve our cause and be sympathetic to the Christ. It is better that I deal with it in my own way, without your knowledge. You will only confuse the matter. In any case, ultimately it may come down to you, Mr. Left Hand of God."

At Van Helsing's look of perplexity, Mavis threw up her hands. "This name you carry–Left Hand of God–have you never wondered what it meant? Why is this the burden that you bear? There are other hunters, I have heard this, but none carry this name. I think, where we are going, we will find this out."

The people about the table sat in silence, eyeing one another with the hopeful looks of those willing to be impressed by anything promising a clear path to salvation. As the silence stretched, Benerd shuffled his feet and looked over those gathered with a beaming smile. "Well, nothing like a firm plan! I suppose we're just about ready then?"

"I'll finish researching the path to Hell," Carl sighed, running his hand through his hair. "As much as is known, in any case. The rest I suppose we'll have to play by ear."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Van Helsing averred with a grin at Carl's rolling eyes and a wink for Gretchen. "So, we'll leave in two days' time. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some rooftop time to put in." Standing, the hunter bowed to Jinette before turning to stride from the room, whistling softly.

Carl shook his head as he watched his lover's departure. "Bonko. Absolutely stark staring bonko."

TBC


	3. Blood Wars Part 3

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to _"Discovery an Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"  
_Summary: The first council of war is held and plans are made–sort of

**Notes: **It is the considered opinion of the male portion of my large and vocal family that as I am writing about "guys", I need to make sure they sound like "guys". In other words, guys handle emotions and falling in love quite differently from women and that needs to be given a great deal of properly humble respect and consideration. I'm not sure exactly what that entails, but I'm willing to concede that our boys are entitled to their doubts and "heart" questions, so that is being forecasted here. I firmly believe that love can be genuine between two people, whatever their sex might be. I also think a relationship that cannot withstand introspection is no relationship at all. I hope that you agree.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Mmmmm! Lots of lovely reviews makes Kyda a _very_ happy writer! Many thanks to reviewers ****Miko2660, ****Nikoru Sanzo, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Jania, ****ChibiKaz, ****ChaosDreamer, ****Iblis, ****Curious Dream Weaver, ****Fluffy Vampire,****Verona Dracula**

* * *

**Blood Wars 3**

Van Helsing settled his crossbow against the wall of the Borgia Tower with a feeling of deja vu. He'd spent so much time up here recently it was becoming a second home to him. He found that fact distasteful for what it implied about his lifestyle and his relationship with the world in general was appalling.

Turning to lean back against the waist-high wall, he planted his hips solidly and folded his arms across his chest in a comfortable but watchful slouch. The day was well advanced; within the hour, the sun would sink and the night watch, consisting of another team of Hunters, would arrive to guard the See from ariel attack. Though their lifestyles were similar, he found he had very little to say to those brothers-in-arms. He found them a grim, watchful bunch with little warmth and the realization came to him that his relationship with Carl had changed him much more than he might have originally supposed.

He was looking at the world and his work with new eyes these days—he found that humor played an unexpected part in it. True, he had always been able to find a ready absurdity in what he did, but now his outlook was becoming less dark and when he lay down his weapons, he put aside the man he was when he was working. He became someone who enjoyed talking and listening, who was inclined to tease, and very definitely someone who enjoyed physically being close to another human being. It had been a long time since he'd felt comfortable around anyone enough to feel free to touch them, let alone being vulnerable enough to cuddle. It felt odd even now—he had to fight off the urge to protect himself by withdrawing into dark humor and a distancing manner that warned others away. He wondered if his old protective mannerisms would even work anymore.

Certainly, they wouldn't work on Carl. The friar had always surprised him that way, being able to get him to talk, to enjoy listening to something other than the most effective way to kill the latest beastie ravaging the countryside.

Van Helsing lowered his head self-consciously as he thought about his relationship with Carl. It was still hard for him to admit that he needed the friar. He truly didn't _want_ to need anyone—it made him vulnerable and in his line of work that wasn't a very good way to stay alive. Even now, instead of watching the skies and planning his strategies, he was mooning over his friend and now-lover and feeling a silly smile tugging at his lips.

Shaking himself, Van Helsing pushed away from the wall and bent to retrieve his weapon. As he did so, he heard a sound from the dark stairwell that led down into the tower and automatically raised his face to scent the light breeze coming from that direction. Easily recognizing the clove and warm hay scent he'd come to associate with Mavis, Van Helsing leaned back against the wall, rested his weapon upon his right shoulder and waited.

The witch emerged from the stairwell with curiosity shining in her dark eyes as she looked about. For him, she spared a nod before she moved eagerly to look out over the gardens and buildings still visible in the paling light.

"It is beautiful up here," she murmured appreciatively. "Such a lovely place to be populated by so many closed minds."

Van Helsing snorted. "Be careful, you're becoming a cynic."

The witch turned to eye him with an appraising glance, her arms folding over the light green shawl she wore. "Ah, and you would be an expert on that, I suspect."

He shrugged. He could hardly deny it; there had been a time when he had secretly reveled in his cynicism. Remembering that fact, he lamented the waste of it now.

"You seem comfortable up here," Mavis observed. "The monsters aren't as numerous as they were before, eh?"

"No. Paul probably believes there's no point to it now—he knows that we're coming so there isn't a need to waste power on attacks to gain our attention."

Mavis nodded as she moved toward him, her small dark shoes making tapping noises on the fine mosaic tiles. She settled herself against the wall at his side, going so far as to extend her legs enough to cross her ankles.

He smiled as he looked down at her, liking her no-nonsense mannerisms and fine intelligence. She, in turn, raised an eyebrow at his smile but her manner had an indulgent air to it.

"I came up here for a reason, you know," she admitted, sniffing when his smile got wider.

"Fancy that," he murmured. "I thought you just came up for the view and my company."

"The view perhaps, your company is the price to be paid for it, Mr. High and Mighty Monster Hunter."

"Ah, there's the iron-fisted shrew we all know and love," Van Helsing observed. "I was worried you might be ill, with all your smiling and soft words."

"Indigestion," she said flatly. "At my age, I've learned to put a good face on it. Of course, you'd be knowing about dealing with a bit of age and then some. Any idea how old you actually are?"

"None," he admitted and shrugged as he heaved himself up from the wall and turned to scan the deepening sky. "I don't often have time for celebrations so birthdays tend to pass me by."

"You could use a little _more _celebration and a little _less _blood shed," Mavis muttered, elbowing the hunter. "You've seen you have a chance for happiness now with Carl...if you're not too pig-headed to accept it."

He didn't attempt to pretend a misunderstanding. Instead, he let her see his smile broaden.

"Pleased as a fat old tom with a bowl of cream, aren't you," Mavis clucked, shaking her head at the smug man beside her.

"Shouldn't I be? Isn't that what you're telling me to embrace?"

"Hah! And as prideful about it as Lucifer himself! Well and good, then. Just make sure that you keep a firm hold of that when we descend into Hell. There will be many there who will want to tear the two of you apart."

"Paul," Van Helsing growled, wincing when Mavis elbowed him again in silent rebuke.

"Ja, him-and there will be others, many others. You don't talk about your love of the friar, and I understand why in this place. Just be careful you're not hiding it for other reasons. There will be a good deal of laughter over it where we're going."

"Laughter?" Van Helsing raised his eyebrows.

"What, you think the souls in Hell are there because they're nice people? Of course they'll mock you for loving a man. And they'll do and say everything possible to make you feel shame for it. Are you prepared for that?"

"You seem to know a great deal about Hell and what the Damned think about," Van Helsing said, eyeing the witch with a frown and a stern air.

"I'm a witch with the sight. What do you suppose I'd be doing before a visit to Hell? Why do you think I won't allow Gretchen to go? Anything pure and honest will be a target there, it pays to be prepared. You didn't answer my question—are _you_ prepared for the lies and ridicule that will be thrown at you and the friar?"

Van Helsing's eyes returned to the skies, to take in the first emerging pinpricks of light in the dark mantle. He inhaled the rising slumberous scent of the rose gardens, their heady perfume promising peace even as the incongruous sounds of marching footsteps interspersed with the metallic clanks of armor and weaponry resounded from below. The second shift was coming on now. There was no peace here, no ease that wasn't first bought for a blood price. Any happiness found would be hard fought-for and hard-won.

Aware of the witch at his side, still waiting for his answer, he smiled into the darkness. "I'm ready. Bring it on."

* * *

Carl ran his hands through his hair as he eyed the stacks of books piled high around him like the walls of a paper fort. He felt as if he'd barely scratched the surface, but the sun was already down and his hours of studying all the minutiae concerning Hell had yielded sheets and sheets of small cramped notes. He'd written everything down, from the sublime to the ridiculous and he suspected that the majority of it could easily fit into the ridiculous category. Still, they would never know until they arrived, and then anything might make the difference between success and failure.

As he sat, head in hands, bathed in the flickering eye-wrecking candlelight, it occurred to the friar that he was hungry. He devoted some quality thought to the act of getting up and setting out in search of food–but as tired as he was, it almost seemed as if the journey to the dining hall and then fighting the crowds for a seat was too much to attempt. He _was_ hungry, though.

"Where's Gabriel when I need him," Carl sighed petulantly, rubbing his tired hot eyes.

"You called?"

The unexpectedness of the laughing, warm voice in his ear made Carl jump like a scalded cat, his flailing arms swiping several sheets of notes and some priceless tomes to the floor. Clutching at his chest in a vain attempt to contain his pounding heart, the friar whirled on his lover with snapping eyes and hot words teetering on the edge of his lips only to be confronted with a tray crowded with dishes of steaming hot food and an entire pitcher of cold foaming lager.

"Oh my God," Carl moaned and reached with single-minded ravenous intent.

"Hmph, I thought you only got that look for me," Van Helsing said, impressed at the speed with which Carl attacked the foodstuffs. "If you don't slow down, you're going to choke. Slowly does it...that beef is already dead, it's not going to escape."

"Mmmmph," Carl rolled his eyes and moaned his appreciation as the huge mouthful he chewed at warmed his cold body and curled his toes. Unable to speak, he pointed at the pitcher of lager, an expression of unutterable contentment lighting his face as Van Helsing poured a mugfull and placed it in his hand. The presence of a mouthful of food didn't stop Carl from swallowing several draughts of the cold heady brew, his blue eyes closing with a profound appreciation. It was with reluctance that he finally set the almost empty mug down and pushed it back toward Van Helsing.

Shaking his head, Van Helsing dutifully poured another mugfull and placed it before the friar again. "Carl, I am truly in awe. You don't do anything by half, do you?" He smiled when Carl's fingers stroked over his briefly before the mug was taken possession of and Carl immersed himself in the frothy head of foam.

For several minutes, the only sounds were those of Carl doing justice to his heaped plate while making awe-inspiring inroads into the pitcher of beer. Van Helsing helped himself to some of the lager as well, settling back with his mug to watch Carl with enjoyment. He was pleased that he had arrived with the tray when he did. He was finding that it gave him pleasure to take care of Carl–and was surprised by just how much. He wanted to be the one to see to it that Carl ate regularly and got plenty of sleep, that he stayed warm and didn't work too hard. True, that wasn't always possible, but he had a suspicion that his own best days would be those when he was successful in caring for the friar.

Carl was slowing down, until at last he lay down his fork with a heavy sigh of repletion. Belching with satiation, he settled back in his chair to nurse a half-full mug and a warm distended belly.

"Gabriel," Carl smiled over at the other man, blinking slowly with languid pleasure. "Have I mentioned lately how much I truly esteem you?"

"Hmm...I believe you have," Van Helsing returned Carl's smile. "If I'd know it only took a decent meal every twelve hours or so to secure your heart, I would have been bringing you trays a long time ago."

"And lager, don't forget that," Carl saluted the other man with his mug before taking a deep reverent swallow.

"How could I? I haven't heard so many moans of appreciation since this morning. I was starting to get jealous."

"Hah," Carl crowed, then hastily looked about for disapproving librarians. He smiled hugely to find that they were alone, the library staff apparently also having taken the time for some much needed sustenance in the dining hall. "Hah," he repeated, tapping a finger to his lips. "You know, I think I'd enjoy having you jealous...just a little."

A dark eyebrow rose as Van Helsing mulled that over. "You would, hmm?"

"Oh, not so much that you couldn't bear for me to talk with anyone else or you had to know where I was every single minute of the day, but...a little jealousy...would be nice," Carl murmured before disappearing into his mug again, his eyes rising to look coyly at Van Helsing through his eyelashes.

It occurred to the hunter that the man before him was more than a little drunk judging by the flirty looks that Carl was treating him to, but he was quite ready to enjoy this rarely seen side of Carl.

"Be careful what you wish for, little mouse," Van Helsing purred. "I can be quite possessive of the things I cherish."

"Cherish?" Carl blinked at the hunter like a bemused owl. "I've never been cherished before. No one's ever wanted to before."

As Carl considered his own admission ruefully, Van Helsing rose from his seat, settling his own mug on the table before moving to Carl to pull the friar up to his feet. Taking the mug from Carl's fingers, he settled that too on the table before taking the friar fully into his arms. Tucking Carl's head under his chin, Van Helsing rubbed Carl's back, hugging him hard as he spoke into the blond hair.

"My Carl, you disarm me so easily." Shaking his head, Van Helsing roused himself from his fond thoughts to look down at the blond head beneath his chin. "Now, you are tired and more than a little drunk. I've spent all day up on the roof, thinking about you. It's time for bed."

"Bed?" Carl murmured as he rubbed his face against the soft sweater, regretting he couldn't reach the warm skin beneath it. He was surprised how quickly he had come to need Gabriel in his bed and in his life. He liked being taken care of and he loved being cherished.

"Yes, bed. Can you stop your research here?"

"Oh yes, I suppose so. And bed does sound so very very nice," Carl sighed, allowing Van Helsing to urge him away from the table with an arm about the friar's shoulders. Carl hesitated before giving a mental shrug and slipping his arm about Gabriel's firm waist. The feeling of closeness, of sharing, gave the friar a warm glow inside. "I like this," he murmured and smiled as the other man squeezed his shoulder.

"I like it too," Van Helsing agreed.

They made their slow, steady way to the doors leading out to the great hall, only then releasing one another with reluctance in order to navigate the crowded space. It was fully dark outside now, those that stood within the large domed antechamber did so for the sake of company and for the opportunity to pray. No one stopped their progress through the milling ranks and they arrived at Carl's chamber only moments after leaving the library.

Once inside, Van Helsing slipped the bolt in place with satisfaction before turning to his friar. Carl stood swaying at the side of his bed with a wistful expression upon his face. He had entered the pleasant stage of inebriation that gave everything a rosy sleepy glow; he was well aware of the need to undress, it was the actual mechanics of the act that had slipped his mind.

With due deliberation, Van Helsing helped Carl toe off his sandals, then divested him of the rest of his clothing. With a firm hand, he guided Carl to the wash basin, handing him the little bone-handled brush liberally sprinkled with soda for his teeth. Mechanically, Carl scrubbed, his eyes closing as the hypnotic motions rapidly put him into a pleasant, wobbling fugue state that was barely disturbed when Van Helsing took the brush from his hand and handed him a cup of water to rinse with.

A quick wash and Carl soon found himself tucked into bed with the covers well up to his chin.

"Aren't you coming?" the blond friar asked wistfully, blinking up at the hunter still standing fully dressed by the side of the bed.

"I'll be there in a moment. Just let me have a wash first."

"Mmmm, you should have a wash in my tin tub," Carl sighed. "It feels wonderful."

"I'll have to try it," Van Helsing said as he tiredly removed his clothing, allowing the pieces soiled with sweat and blood to drop to the floor. It had been an easier day than those previous, with no narrow escapes for him, but he'd still been busy from sunup to sundown and his muscles ached with a vengeance. He had looked forward to this time with Carl all day, now he rushed through his washing with the pleasant thought of nestling against Carl to soothe the protests of his body.

Blowing out the candles that lit the room he at last slid into bed with a groan of pleasure, immediately pulling Carl into his arms.

"I love this," Carl confided happily, spooning with sybaritic abandon. "I love your body. I think I crave it."

Van Helsing blinked down at the man nestling with a single-minded intent that was both gratifying and intimidating. He'd know ticks with less keenly-honed burrowing instincts. As a man who had no memories of ever in his life being so open with anyone, Van Helsing found the closeness a revelation.

"I...think I crave you as well," the hunter admitted thoughtfully and a little hesitantly.

Carl raised his head to eye Van Helsing's darkened profile. The moon was rising and by its pale light he studied his lover. "Does it bother you?"

"It's a little surprising..."

"Surprising in a good way?" Carl pressed, "Or in a bad way?"

"Definitely good," Van Helsing soothed his friar, urging Carl to lay down on his chest again. "I've just never had this feeling before. I didn't know what to call it till you explained it."

"Ahhh," Carl nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Well, get used to it. And you should know that I intend to be quite jealous of you. No more kissing grateful rulers or stray damsels in distress. A firm handshake will do very nicely from now on."

The chest beneath Carl's head rumbled with laughter and he heard the rustle of hair on the clean pillow case as Van Helsing shook his head.

"If I'd know how jealous you could be, I'd have been much more circumspect in my kissing."

"Hmph. Well you know about it now, so you're cut off. Understood?"

"Yes, Carl."

Smugly, Carl settled with a firm arm around the warm body beneath him and a contented heart as Van Helsing's arms held him tight in return.

* * *

With the advent of winter so close, dawn crept sluggishly into the small chamber, almost seeming apologetic in its arrival upon the rumpled bed. The air had a nip to it that made snuggling into the covers and against a warm body a pleasure. With limbs hopelessly tangled, Van Helsing and Carl sleepily nuzzled at one another like puppies in a pile. Van Helsing's lips naturally sought and kissed Carl's skin, sucking at it with warm drowsy gratification while Carl hugged him close, instinctively enjoying the sensation. It felt good to cuddle within the clean scratchy embrace of the bed and both men clung to the half-awake languor of it for as long as possible before the rising light of the sun finally pulled them from their pleasant doze.

Carl's blue eyes opened reluctantly as he felt Van Helsing stir, stretching so that every muscle rippled against Carl's skin. When the hunter settled bonelessly again, Carl spread himself proprietarily over the warmth his bed mate offered, laying on Van Helsing's chest with a smug air.

For his part, Van Helsing sighed then nuzzled at Carl's hair before squinting into the light creeping through the open window. It was late, later than either man usually arose in the morning. It was possible that sleeping with Carl might permanently put an end to his early-rising tendencies.

Carl scrubbing his face against the hunter's chest drew Van Helsing's eyes down to the friar's petulant frown. Carl had never been enthusiastic in his greeting of a new day and this morning's performance was no exception. He gave all the indications of bearing a particular grudge against the coming dawn, obviously believing the imminent necessity of rising was a personal affront.

To forestall the incipient bad humor, Van Helsing hugged him hard until he heard the friar's breathless squeak of protest before easing his grip to stroke Carl's back. He let his hands wander down to caress the round globes of Carl's buttocks and enjoyed the shiver it elicited.

"Good morning," he murmured, grinning as one bleary blue eye rolled up to him.

"Mmphflg," came the muffled reply against his chest.

"Have a good sleep?" Van Helsing asked pleasantly, enjoying the air of displeasure that radiated off his affronted bed partner.

"Yes. It was _very_ good, if you must know. I'd like to return to it as soon as possible–right now, actually."

"I wish I could let you, but I think His Eminence would probably show up to collect you personally if I did."

"Hmph. His Eminence has a heart of cold stone," Carl muttered before allowing a long torturous sigh to gust over Van Helsing's chest. "Gabriel..."

"Mmm?"

"Nothing...I was considering shamelessly begging so that you'd take the first turn at washing, but I don't even have the energy for that much."

Van Helsing shook his head with a snort, ruffling Carl's hair before pushing at the friar's shoulders. "Let me up. I'll get washed first. You stay in bed where it's warm."

"Alright, it's a deal. While you're at it, how about breakfast in bed?"

"How about waking up, you're still dreaming," Van Helsing dryly assured his bed mate. Sliding out of the warm nest, he made sure to tuck the covers well in under Carl. Judging by the way Carl was burrowing into Van Helsing's vacated pillowthe friarwas planning on snatching a few last minutes of sleep. To forestall Carl's plan, Van Helsing spoke as he moved about the chamber.

"Tell me what you found in your research yesterday."

A gusty sigh assured him that Carl recognized the hunter's intentions of keeping him awake as Carl drug himself up onto his elbows with the resigned air of a true Christian martyr. The look he fixed Van Helsing with was made up of equal parts of weary acceptance and hearty petulance.

"How much do you want to know? I think I may very well have read everything ever written on that repulsive place. I don't know how much of it is actually going to do us any good, but if anyone ever made a notation of the least little thing, I've got a note on it."

Lathering his skin with the soap that Carl had received from Brother Felcher, Van Helsing considered what Carl had said. "Did you find anything about the help that Mavis mentioned?"

"Actually, I believe I did. If I have this right, I believe Mavis plans to form a coven in Hell."

"What!"

"Well it's not so far fetched really," Carl asserted firmly, warming to his subject as he sat up in bed with the blankets still wrapped firmly around him. "After all, there have been many many witches that have been executed by the Inquisition. It's been postulated that the martyrdom these people have suffered–at least those who genuinely did nothing worse than to believe in the sanctity of Mother Earth–well that, in effect, gives them the ability to travel between both Heaven and Hell. That would mean that they would be able to come to Mavis' temporary assistance in Hell if called upon."

Van Helsing considered the possibilities. "So any witch–and any number of them...what about Paul's mother?"

"His mother?" Carl blinked in surprise. "Why would we want to call her?"

"Well, I haven't heard anything against her besides the fact that she was unfortunate enough to be raped by an incubus."

"We don't know that it was rape, Gabriel."

"Still, we don't know that it wasn't." Van Helsing turned to Carl as he toweled himself dry. "Mavis says she knows of Paul's mother. It would pay us to question her, I think. Besides, it's not unheard of for sinners to repent, even in Hell."

A fond smile turned up the corners of Carl's mouth as he considered the stubborn set of Van Helsing's face. It was nice to see the unexpected belief in goodness within this man who had spent so much of his time dealing with the very worst the world had to offer.

"All right, Gabriel. You're right, it deserves to be investigated." Carl fell silent then as his thoughts took their natural course to topics less hopeful and much more distressing. Van Helsing wrapped the towel about his waist, securing it as he moved to seat himself on the bed beside Carl.

"What's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

Hesitantly, lips pursing as he considered his reply, Carl voiced the fears that had driven his research the previous night. "You know...what Mavis said about Hell having certain rules...I read somethings about that. She didn't mention that those rules cut both ways. Gabriel, I'd be lying if I didn't admit I'm dreading Dracula. He's had all the time in the world to bend those rules to serve him–and he has a grudge against you. I don't want to lose you to him."

Van Helsing considered the friar with regret noting his genuine fear. "I can't avoid this, Carl. You know that."

"I know," Carl agreed, watching the hunter carefully, reading his expression, the thoughts that traveled through the hazel eyes.

Van Helsing shrugged. "I'm worried too, about an omnipotent demon who fancies you for himself. And I don't want to lose you either. It would be so easy for either of them to use us against one another. And all we can do is to trust each other not to let that happen. Mavis tells me that there is strong good magic in our relationship. She's even willing to concede maybe the wolf isn't such a bad thing. She believes the combination of the wolf and a holy many be stave off quite a bit of trouble."

"But Gabriel, Dracula..." Carl began, only to be silenced by Van Helsing reaching out to cover and squeeze his clenched hands resting in his blanket-covered lap.

"Love, I _can't_ promise that I won't be killed. I can only promise that I'm extraordinarily hard to kill and I won't make any mistakes. We fought Dracula before and we won. I think we can hold him off long enough to do what we need to accomplish."

"And after that?" Carl murmured, dropping his eyes to their joined hands, his fingers curling strongly about the calloused hand within his own.

"After that, we'll fight our way back out. You'll watch my back, I'll guard yours. We _make up our minds that we both_ _will survive this intact_. No foolish chances, no deals, no giving up. Agreed?"

"No chances, no deals, no giving up," Carl repeated firmly, his eyes rising to meet Van Helsing's. "Agreed."

"And afterwards, when we return, we spend a week in that tub of yours with a cask of Brother Archibald's lager."

Carl's cheeks blew out as he snorted appreciatively, shaking his head. "If only!"

Van Helsing's dark brows rose in mock surprise as he eyed Carl with disfavor. "Doubt? We're about to face Hell itself and you doubt that we can manage a week in a tub getting drunk? I'll have you know that Brother Archibald himself will be more than pleased to supply all the lager we require, whenever we require it."

At Carl's disbelieving stare, Van Helsing shrugged. "You just need to understand how to handle him."

"'Handle' him?" Carl inquired, his eyebrows descending. "Exactly how do you handle him, Gabriel?"

"Er," the hunter frowned, licking his lips as he eyed the rapidly growing darkness within Carl's eyes. "Carl, you're misinterpreting what I'm saying..."

"Oh **_I_** know," Carl growled. "That week in the tub, Gabriel? _I'll_ be getting the lager from Brother Archibald. From now on, you will be giving the Brother a wide berth."

Looking at his bristling, defensive friar, Van Helsing could only smile and shrug. Carl was undeniably cute. He would enjoy every second of convincing his friar that Carl would never have cause to feel a moment's jealousy, ever.

TBC


	4. Blood Wars Part 4

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: _Sequel to "Discovery an Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"  
_  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**  
Summary: The journey to Hell begins**

**Feedback: **Hi! I'm told that this story isn't behaving very well–the chapters have been posted but very few people can actually get them to come up. I've left a trouble ticket and, with luck, the problem will be resolved soon. I'm holding off with my thanks for feedback because I don't want to forget anyone. I'll give my sincere and hearty thanks for reviewers of 3 and 4 in Part 5 of this story. Thank you!

* * *

**Blood Wars 4**

The start of the next day's journey through the double doors leading to the catacombs was witnessed by apparently every soul within the See. They gathered in grim-faced and silent ranks, leaving only a narrow aisle free that ended at the great bolted doors. Though it was early, with the majority of the light still coming from the banks of lit candles, every face turned toward them was alert and watchful. The watchers' dark eyes searched each of the foursome, weighing signs of weakness and strength. Van Helsing wondered what the outcome of that judgment was—did they find themselves feeling easier in their hearts, believing the four had a hope of surviving their trip to Hell? Or did they simply view the journey with the glazed fascination of witnesses to a horrible tragedy unfolding before their eyes?

He wanted to tell them that they didn't need to worry, but he wasn't quite sure how to do it. Normally, he was The Bad Thing that happened to others—he wasn't exactly sure how to be the ray of sunshine in a bad situation.

Carl nudged him from behind, meeting his eyes with an encouraging grin. "Look like a bunch of mullets waiting for the mallet, don't they?"

Snorting at the description, the hunter shook off the morbidity of his past thoughts and strode along the open path with the other three following closely. In the silence, their footsteps echoed ridiculously loud on the stone floor and he fought the urge to tip toe–he did hasten his steps, slightly, and drew a deep breath as he closed the gap to the doors. Jinette stood before them with anxious impatience, and Van Helsing had to suppress a snort of cynical humor at the sudden relieved light in the prelate's eyes. He wondered if Jinette thought they'd duck out the back and leave the prelate to fight the minions of Hell himself. As entertaining as that thought was, it would never happen. There were other hunters–it followed there would be others that would go through those doors before Jinette so much as stuck his nose in those tangled corridors.

Evidently, the Cardinal didn't have any difficulty reading Van Helsing's expression because he lifted his chin _and_ his voice as soon as he spotted the hunter.

"About time. Contrary to your opinion, some of us would like to get some sleep sometime within this 48-hour period. I know that you don't often encounter crowds that _don't_ want to hang you, but if you could manage to increase your prideful saunter even a _little_ we'd all appreciate it."

Van Helsing raised his eyebrow at Jinette while restraining the urge to slow down to the insolent strut the prelate accused him of. Behind him, he heard Mavis' snort and Carl's rebellious muttering about "dawn patrols" and allowed a grin to curl over his lips, exposing strong white teeth to the prelate.

"Ah, you think that's amusing, do you? God should have so much patience as you expect from me," Jinette growled. "If I weren't perfectly sure of your having a fine time of it, I'd have you cool your heels in the dungeons for a good long while—long enough to tame that insolent streak in you. I don't know why I put up with it. No one else gives me half so much trouble as you give me with half the effort."

"Mea Culpa," Van Helsing said, still holding his cheeky grin.

"You're damned right it's your fault," Jinette assured the hunter. "I hope you get a good look at Hell while you're there, because I've no doubt you've earned a permanent spot with all of the wearisome insolence you've cursed me with."

"You're a priest; you should be used to trials."

"Trials?! You are a _plague_, Van Helsing. A gnawing sulfurous cancer eating at my vitals. I should be so fortunate as to suffer from mere trials."

"To be the plague that gnaws at a Cardinal...you do me too much honor. As for gnawing at your vitals, better me than what's behind that door—speaking of which, if you could hold your sermon long enough to step back, I could go through and deal with the beasties that want to gnaw on the rest of you."

"Now you're in a hurry?" Jinette allowed his eyes to wander over the hunter. "You've made sure you're well prepared?"

"As well as we can, given the lack of first-hand knowledge." The hunter tilted his head to one side as he regarded the Cardinal standing with fingers entwined in tight fists before him. The man looked as if he was hanging on for dear life; it occurred to Van Helsing that Jinette was worried. He wondered if the prelate believed they would never return.

"You think we won't be back?" Van Helsing growled as he drew near the great doors, moving to stand before the man whom he had plagued and been plagued by for years.

Jinette's gaze met Van Helsing's with a clear worry that he had never allowed the hunter to see before. "If you die...."

"If I die?" Van Helsing prompted, "Then you will have to find yourself another plague to gnaw at your vitals."

"As if God would allow another such as you to exist on this earth—He is more merciful than that. Still...it is better to face the troubles you know.... I suppose I would prefer to deal with you than to have to put up with a new burden. So....try to curb your fractious disposition long enough to survive this." Jinette's clenched fingers sprang free and, hesitantly, they reached out, briefly caught and held Van Helsing's face, then sprang back to once again clench in a white knuckled steeple before him. "I suppose if I asked you to come back alive, you'd die just to spite me?"

Van Helsing smiled with genuine warmth for the first time, shrugging. "It's a possibility."

Closing his eyes, Jinette shook his head. "Oh Lord, how have I offended Thee to be given this burden upon my life and soul...."

A warm hand, touched and held the prelate's clenched hands and Jinette's eyes opened to meet Van Helsing's.

"I'll be back," the hunter promised. "Don't go looking for any new burdens while I'm gone."

"I won't. I'll be enjoying the temporary respite," Jinette promised with a tight frown.

Releasing the cold fingers, Van Helsing stepped back, allowing Carl to move forward to speak to the Cardinal.

Jinette didn't wait for Carl to say anything—he immediately moved forward to envelop the friar in a hard hug that made the blond man wheeze.

"You will return, Carl," Jinette hissed. "Hell is not for the likes of you, but someone must look after Van Helsing and see to a proper end of this mess."

"I...I promise...I'll do both," Carl stuttered and felt the older man nod brusquely before pushing back and moving out of the way of the doors.

Raising his hand over the four gathered before him, the Cardinal gave them his blessings, and then the heavy bar was removed from the great doors. The crowd fell back and fighters moved to the front as the four readied their weapons and their courage.

The portal creaked open perhaps an inch, then burst apart as a tide of monsters was spat out of the darkness.

* * *

Pinpoints of light bobbed within the close dark corridors of the catacombs, pushing back the midnight mantle to allow the four travelers to emerge into the huge central area. 

After grimly fighting their way through the hordes that had emerged to greet their adventure, the foursome had found the corridors to be remarkably free of any beasts. They'd made good time with Van Helsing in the front, Mavis following, and Carl and Benerd bringing up the rear.

As they emerged from the catacombs into the amphitheater, they got a good look for the first time at the chamber and the enormous fissure that split its center. There were none of the expected guardian beasts present; they stood alone at the doorway to Hell, spreading out along its length as near to the fissure as the heat that poured out from it would allow. They had reached their first hurdle.

"How do we get inside?" Benerd murmured as he eyed the crevice with morbid fascination. "We'll be fried like a side of bacon."

"Hardly," Mavis answered as she edged along the crevice, attempting to peer inside. "That would not suit the cambion's needs at all. I am sure he will make a suitable doorway for us when it pleases him."

Carl leaned in to Van Helsing as they stood well back, watching the other two prowl the perimeter. "It's what pleases him that worries me," the friar's admission was rueful, earning him a smile from Van Helsing.

"He wants to get you well inside, Carl. And, if he doesn't control all of the beasts within—which I'm confident he doesn't—then he'll want us with you to protect you. Also, I would imagine he'd enjoy watching me being torn to pieces, so a simple death by roaming beasties is hardly likely."

Carl bit his lip as he eyed the hunter with asperity. "You _are_ a little ray of sunshine, aren't you? Could you manage to exude a little more optimism? Even a tiny bit would be appreciated!"

Van Helsing gave the request careful consideration. "All right.... We haven't been eaten yet. That's good news."

The friar was not pleased with the hunter's efforts, but his rejoinder was cut short by a muffled roar within the chasm that rapidly escalated. Beneath their feet, the ground quaked and shook, causing them to stumble and fall to their knees. Van Helsing caught at Benerd's arm to drag the monk away from the fissure while Carl caught and held Mavis' hand, pulling her well back.

As the roar of sound reached a crescendo, a groaning note emerged as the shaking earth began to move and the fissure slowly expanded, yawning open like the hot stinking maw of a dragon. Dirt and loose rock danced on the ground, sliding closer and closer to the fissure to finally tumble inside. Carl watched their fall with a queasy stomach, imagining himself and his friends making the same desperate journey.

When the fissure had opened to three-times its past width, the shaking began to subside quickly as did the bone rattling tremors. They rose carefully to their feet, holding onto one another for balance until the tremors stopped.

Silence reigned for a good while as they eyed the beckoning chasm, drifting toward it as if pulled by gravity. Van Helsing pushed away to walk the last few feet toward the edge, peering over it with interest. Beneath him, dark glassy steps descended from the edge into the depths. The furious heat was gone, replaced by a more temperate breath of warm air blowing in a constant stream against their faces.

"Welcome to my parlor," Van Helsing murmured and heard Carl's fervent "Amen" at his side.

They descended the steep stairs of black volcanic glass with care, holding on to one another for balance as well as comfort. The stairway seemed to go on forever, disappearing into churning mists. Carl watched the grey clouds obscuring the stairway with a morbid fascination. What would they find within it? Was Paul already standing below? Or worse, Dracula?

As if reading the friar's thoughts, Van Helsing nudged against him, the hunter's fingers moving to thread through Carl's in a firm tight clasp. With the reassuring pressure, Carl released a long-held sigh and banished his concerns from his mind. Worrying now would do them no good. There would be time for worry later, when they knew more.

They approached the grey clouds at last, stepping into their embrace to find themselves emerging almost immediately on level solid ground. Before them was a broad dark plain of waving grass and stunted vegetation that caught at their clothing with tenacious briars. A distance away, a tremendous wall rose from the ground and circled away to either side, disappearing from sight.

Amazed to find himself once again on comfortable horizontal terra firma so soon, Carl looked back at the steps only to find them completely engulfed by the grey cloud. He reached back to touch the roiling mass and hastily jerked his hand free, bringing it to his lips to suck at ruefully.

"Ouch! It's boiling hot!"

"Easy in, not so easy out," Mavis said with a tight smile. "If we are the fly, then we are well and truly entangled in this web."

"It's where we wanted to go, whether it suits the spider or not," Van Helsing reminded the grim adventurers before him.

"It's up to us to make sure he chokes on us, you mean?" Benerd asked ruefully.

"Exactly. So Carl, you're our expert on Hell...what do we do next?"

"Ah...well," Carl rummaged in his pockets, bringing out a much-folded square of parchment. Squatting to the ground, he opened it so that the others could see. Upon the tan pitted surface a concentric series of rings was drawn, each labeled with heavy black ink. Carl tapped the outer ring. "From all accounts, Hell is laid out like a funnel, each lower ring containing a new level of the damned. This is where we are, I believe. We've been somehow brought to the Gates of Hell through the fissure. Perhaps it makes sense that the doorway to Heaven and Hell should exist side by side–it probably makes the sorting of souls easier, I'd imagine."

"The fissure hasn't always been beneath the Vatican," Van Helsing demurred, pausing as Carl held up a finger.

"No no, of course not. But I think it has always existed _somewhere_ and it sort of...moves. It was allowed to open under the Vatican because of the Order. The battle against good and evil, as it were, with Paul forcing the battle to us. I wonder if the fissure still exists above us."

"I don't like that much," Benerd protested, stilling when Van Helsing shrugged and gave the monk a smile.

"Doesn't matter," the hunter said, "our path isn't back to the Vatican now, anyway. When the time comes for us to return from Hell, we'll make a door, one way or the other."

"Ahh," the monk blinked and nodded. "Yes, of course. So...we're headed toward that wall then?"

"Yes." Carl stood up, folding his map again and tucking it into the satchel he carried slung over his shoulder. "It's the front door to Hell–there we'll find Cerberus."

They started their trek toward the wall looming in the distance. The way was difficult because of the sprawling shrubs bristling with nettles that crowded their footsteps. Van Helsing in his tall boots and heavy trousers fared the best. Mavis' long dress bogged her down as it was caught and held. In the end Van Helsing picked the witch up and carried her. Carl and Benerd did the worst because of the long skirts of their robes and the thin linen undergarments. Their legs were constantly being stuck and slashed at by hundreds of torturous little barbs that seemed to take perverse delight in digging in deep and making their skin bleed. Burning the bushes back with Carl's flame gun was briefly discussed and abandoned. The last thing they needed was to find the bushes of Hell handled flames just fine and then have to slog through burning nettles after.

Finally, Van Helsing's coat was draped over both Carl and Benerd, back-to-front so that the heavy leather offered them a wall of protection as they pushed forward. It was better than nothing and duly appreciated.

Mercifully, after several yards, the brush began to die back, becoming sparser. They could pick their way through now, avoiding the worst of it which they did with alacrity.

The trek to the gate was a good two-mile walk. When the scrub grew sparsely enough to be maneuvered around easily, Van Helsing set Mavis down and collected his heavy coat from the two holy men. It carried the majority of their weapons within its folds and was an unaccustomed weight for anyone other than Van Helsing.

With the relative ease of their journey now, Carl was inclined to talk and Benerd was just as eager to join in.

"So Cerberus is really a 3-headed dog?" the monk asked as he peered at the distant wall.

"That or a 50-headed dog. Accounts were a little vague," Carl admitted, smiling at Benerd's gawping dismay.

"That's quite a difference, Carl! How are we supposed to get past this canine wonder?"

Carl held up one finger as his other hand dug into his satchel. "With these–"

A bulky brown package of waxed paper was presented to the monk, which Carl dutifully peeled open to reveal several thick slices of bread oozing with what appeared to be golden honey.

Benerd's eyebrows rose with interest as did his finger to probe at the sticky mass before the digit disappeared with a satisfied slurp into the monk's mouth. "Howsthatspsdhlp?" he mouthed indistinctly about the finger he was sucking.

Carl carefully refolded the package so that none of the stickiness escaped. "It will help because Cerberus apparently fancies sweets. He's also supposed to enjoy music, but as none of us knows how to play an instrument I decided the honey cakes were the better choice."

The monk eyed the satchel Carl stuffed the packet into with a rueful air. "Ah, well, that will be something to see, then. So we toss him the honey cakes and slip on by?"

"Something like that. With any luck, he should be so caught up in eating them he won't notice us."

"And if it doesn't work?"

Carl frowned thoughtfully at the monk, shrugging. "Then you'd best warm up your voice–we'll have to sing for our passage."

"Sing? Er...Carl...I don't sing. Trust me on that. And I've heard your humming–unless we're counting on the sound of it driving Cerberus away, you don't sing either."

The friar's expression was even less enthusiastic than the monk's. "Let's hope the cakes satisfy him then."

"Yes, let's," Benerd sighed and forged ahead with a lowered head.

Long before they arrived at the curving wall they spotted the dark tortured gates of Hell. The massive iron gates rose several stories high above them, its metal frame was covered in twisted shapes that seemed to writhe and coil before their eyes, creating horrifying images of suffering and danger. To make things worse, a smell was now making itself known, exuding oilily through the open fretwork of the gate to coil about them in a disgusting miasma of blood, excrement and sickness. All four travelers covered their noses and mouths with their hands as they fought against retching and prayed their senses would soon deaden to the smell.

As bad as that was, there was an unexpected blessing in the fact that no sign of Cerberus presented itself. At Van Helsing's wondering look, Carl could only shrug.

They approached the gates with grim determination as their only driving force. To the side of the dark portal, a large sign hung that appeared to be carved out of yellowed bone with the discouraging message of

"**ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE**"

"Charming," Carl sniffed and then immediately regretted it.

Mavis, with her shawl pressed mercifully tight about her noise and mouth, approached the gates warily, reaching out to place one hand against the dark metal.

Immediately a baying sound burst forth, echoing by the sounds of multitudinous voices screaming in terrible agony.

"Oh my God!" Benerd gasped, hastily backing away as the Gates began to swing slowly open.

They all fell back, being careful not to reach for their weapons, as through the gaping portal emerged a huge red form.

It was easily the size of the great Vestibule of St. Peter's Palace. Cerberus was no mere dog, he was a goliath of monstrous aspect. Crimson red all over, with no sign of fur or hair upon his body, his skin was stretched tight over a distended belly. Legs the size and shape of towers supported the mammoth body, terminating in cruel clawed paws that could crush the party with one step.

The worst, by far though, were the heads that reared up over them. Red skin stretched torturously over the three canine heads. Each head had horns curling from the side of the skulls. Below them were large bat-wing ears, that swivelled and cupped the air to catch the slightest sound. The eyes on the flattened skulls were large, almond shaped, and set well back in the skulls. They were the size of carts and a deep blood red. The heads tapered to pointed muzzles, from which stertorous, tortured breaths were sucked in and then expelled with wheezing gasps through gaping saber-lined jaws.

All three heads were fixed on the four travelers, and all had a horrifying look of intelligence in the red eyes. This was no foolish dog to be tricked with ill-conceived ploys. Cerberus was the dread guardian of Hell for good reason.

Benerd elbowed Carl sharply in his ribs, sidling closer to the friar. "Er Carl...might want to give him the honey cakes now. Wish they were a bit bigger, eh?"

"Oh God," Carl breathed as he fumbled with his satchel. "I don't know if he'll even be able to see them! I had no idea he'd be this big."

Van Helsing eyed the monster before him, arms crossed over his chest as he gauged the awareness he saw in the red eyes. "Oh I don't think he'll have any trouble locating them Carl. He already knows what to expect, he's waiting for it, so let's not disappoint him."

"Yes..yes," Carl panted, extracting the packet finally. With trembling fingers, the friar tore it open, then was faced with the dismaying concept of how to present it to the monster.

Van Helsing took the matter into his own hands by taking the packet and walking with it toward the guardian.

Cerberus' heads oriented on the approaching man as large dark red tongues emerged to lap at the three muzzles.

"Ja," Mavis murmured. "He's got the scent of it now."

"Either that or he thinks Gabriel looks tasty," Carl murmured and moved forward himself, pacing the hunter, pulling up close behind him to reach out and catch the hunter's coat, holding it.

Cerberus seemed to greet the new arrival with surprise, his heads moving now between Van Helsing and Carl, the red eyes blinked for the first time as with a wheezing huff, the dog's haunches settled on the ground and the massive forequarters slowly sank until the dog lay on the ground. It waited then with a Sphinx-like air, alert, watchful, and enigmatic.

The two men approached until they stood within a few feet and the guardian's necks bowed to allow the heads to peer down at them. Carefully, Van Helsing pried apart the sticky treats, tossing them a little apart from each other, before each of the heads. When all of the cakes had been delivered, he raised his hands to show they were empty.

Cerberus' heads dipped lower, then, and sniffed at the cakes lying in the dirt. The monster's breaths gusted at them and both men fought not to gag at the rankness of it. The great red tongues lapped out to taste the cakes and the red body shook with a palsy of pleasure at the sweetness. But Cerberus made no attempt to take the cakes. Instead, the red heads rose again to face the two men with a decidedly expectant air.

"Uh oh," Carl mumbled, dropping his head as the hunter turned to look back at him.

"'Uh oh'? Carl, what does 'Uh oh' mean? What does it want?"

"Er...well, I could be wrong of course..."

"Unfortunately, I doubt it, so tell me."

"I...I think...he's waiting for a..er..song."

"A...song?" Van Helsing asked carefully. "As in....?"

"Singing," Carl sighed. "The other method to pass Cerberus is with music. None of us know how to play an instrument, so that leaves singing."

"Mmm, I see. You might have wanted to mention this earlier, Carl. I would have wanted to know before I was standing six feet away from a monster the size of the dome."

The friar winced, patting the man beside him apologetically.

With a cavernous sigh, Van Helsing shook his head. "So what does he want to hear? Any preferences?"

Carl's head snapped up to fix disbelieving eyes upon the hunter. "You're going to sing to him?"

"Unless you think he'd settle for whistling?" Van Helsing suggested wryly as he pulled his coat off and pushed it at Carl.

"No...no, I don't think whistling would do it. Er...Gabriel, _can_ you sing? I've never heard you do it before."

The hunter frowned as he moved carefully before Carl, pushing the friar back slightly. "I guess we'll find out, now, won't we? If he doesn't like it, try to get out of range of his mouths as quickly as you can."

"Out of range?! Gabriel..." Carl began, shaking his head firmly only to be silenced as the hunter began to sing. In a pure tenor, Van Helsing sang _Ave Maria_ and Carl felt his eyes prickle with the tears the song always evoked within him.

Behind them, Mavis and Benerd approached quietly to stand beside Carl, watching the monster hunter sing to the silent monster before him.

There was no movement nor sound besides Van Helsing's voice until the end of the song. When it was done and the last note had disappeared, Cerberus' red eyes blinked again and the hound sighed a great gusting reef of wind that blew back Van Helsing's hair and tore at his clothing. Then the dog lowered his heads and took the cakes from the earth.

"My God," Benerd murmured. "It's going to work."

"Thank God," Carl sighed and closed his eyes in a heartfelt prayer of thanks. He heard Van Helsing turn and felt the heavy weight of the leather coat lift from his arms. Opening his eyes, he watched the hunter shrug into the coat.

"Gabriel," Carl began, then stopped when Van Helsing smiled at him, shaking his head.

Cerberus finished his treats quickly, as expected, and spent a great deal of time licking the ground to remove every last trace of sweetness. When he was done, he heaved himself up, pausing for a moment to look at the four arrayed before him with a look that seemed to hold surprise, before he stepped delicately to one side, obviously leaving a path open to enter by.

Van Helsing went first, followed by Carl, then Mavis and then finally Benerd. They walked within inches of the massive legs and felt the heat pouring off of them. They had to pass under the bulging belly, and Carl caught at Van Helsing as he saw the skin move and writhe then punch outwards in the unmistakable silhouette of a human being moving beneath the skin before disappearing from view.

"Oh God," Carl swallowed hard and the grim hunter caught at him, pulling him quickly away. They all moved more quickly now, the hope and beauty of the song fading as the dark reality once again held sway.

They were past Cerberus, they heard the gates close behind them with an air of insurmountable finality–they had, at last, truly arrived in Hell.

"Finally!" Van Helsing rubbed his hands together with a grim expectation. "Let's go teach Paul some manners."

With a smile, he touched his fingers to Carl's cheek, smiled at the other two travelers, then taking Carl's hand, set out on the next leg of their journey.

TBC


	5. Blood Wars Part 5

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
**Series/Sequel: Sequel to _"Discovery an Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"_**

Summary: Crossing the River Archeron into Hell; Gabriel and Carl meet an old friend

**Notes: Thank you Chibi-Kaz! I've added a paragraph of explanation on why the souls fight to get _into_ Hell. Also, I've changed Dracula's dialogue to be, hopefully, less obscure. **

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers: ****Gnomey, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Iblis, ****MyDracoMalfoy, ****Verona Dracula, ****Jania, ****ChaosDreamer, ****Nikoru Sanzo, ****Chibi-Kaz, ****Fluffy Vampire**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 5**

Once within the Gate, the next stretch seemed to take forever without any change in the scenery-soft earth, occasionally pock-marked by swampy patches from which waving yellow reeds sprang. The air was quiet and while stifling with muggy humidity, it no longer reeked as it had at the Gate, for which the travelers were profoundly grateful. Above them a dark glowering sky seemed to constantly promise storms and lightning. At first, the electricity in the air and the promise of a storm was exciting, but as hours passed with no change, it became oppressive and the foursome found themselves resenting its presence weighing them down.

Their path angled generally southward, in a reasonably straight line from the Gate. Carl often consulted his map and notes, drawing Benerd's questions and suggestions. Mavis was also drawn in from time to time, and Carl found himself curious about what the witch perceived from the still area. As oppressive as it was for the men, it had to be a constant struggle for someone with second sight. When Benerd drifted away to talk with Van Helsing up ahead, Carl turned his eyes to Mavis walking beside him.

"This place," he began, with an apologetic smile, "it can't be very pleasant for you. I mean, I _know_ it's Hell, but to us it's mud and monsters. For you...you don't even believe in God or Heaven and Hell, do you?"

The witch shrugged, then smoothed down her rumpled shawl with a decided air. "I don't believe in the God as your church portrays him. I don't limit myself that way. We believe in the grace of Nature, in the giving and taking by the Mother which can bring joy as well as pain. There is neither damnation nor eternal salvation, only the good or bad you do with your works day by day. When we die, we go to a place of reflection and look over our deeds, good and bad. Then we return to another life to correct our wrongs."

"No damnation? Then how do you account for Hell?"

"It's not unusual that with so much evil in the world, it should gather in one place. And with the presence of power and malice comes the ability to create such a place. When we die, we go to the place we see for ourselves—be it Hell or the Summerland. I think you should rather ask what do you chose to see, what do you chose to make a part of your existence."

"Yeeess," Carl conceded thoughtfully, his mind darting ahead along the lines Mavis suggested. "So you're saying Hell is here because we made it appear? That we created it?"

"Create or perpetuate…. Tell me, friar, your love of the hunter—many would see that as a sin, but you do not?"

"No," Carl averred firmly. "I believe that God gave us the capacity to love, and any love we feel, as long as it does no harm and does not demean us, then it's right."

Mavis patted the man, smiling. "Then you chose to look beyond the strictures of others and discover your answers for yourself. You sound very much like those back home. You would enjoy such a life I think."

"I admit, from what Gabriel has told me of your village, I'm very curious to see it."

"You will be welcomed, whenever you chose to visit," Mavis assured the friar.

Carl, smiling, walked quietly for some time before venturing a thought that had been bothering him for some time. "I've been meaning to ask-do you sense things here, that we can't see?"

The witch watched Carl pick his delicate way over a subject that would have struck most Catholics as horribly sacrilegious and found herself liking the friar a great deal. Carl was unusual, both as a friar and as a man of his times.

"Ja, I can sense a great deal, if I let myself."

"Oh, if you let...so you can shut it off at will? It must be very difficult for you–this being Hell, the things you're sensing must be horrific."

The witch made no answer, only waited for Carl to ask the question she could see in his eyes.

"Er...Paul...I've thought...that it was my fault... I mean, the way he feels about me, that I must have done something to lead him to think of me in that way."

"And if you did? It was not done on purpose, and it is past so you cannot change it. How does the question or the answer to it change anything?"

"Hmmph...I suppose it would give me peace of mind...to know what I did." Carl admitted, shrugging helplessly at the witch. "We're here partly because of Paul's feeling for me. Or so he says. I feel responsible."

Mavis considered the friar's words as she watched his blue eyes cloud with worry and guilt. In so many ways, the friar was as young and vulnerable as Gretchen, for all that he had seen so much more of the world.

"Carl, Paul's feelings are only that, _his _feelings. If you had done no more than simply live and breath, it would have been enough to draw him to you. The only way you could have stopped him would have been to never have met him–and that was not an option. We are here now because he is dangerous. The fact that he desires you is only one of the many things that makes him dangerous. And what of Dracula? Does he not have unfinished business with your Gabriel? Business that spans hundreds of years?"

"So he says," Carl murmured, ducking his head as Mavis smiled at Carl's obvious resentment. "Can you sense Paul? And Dracula? Do you know how far away they are?"

The witch considered the question before answering, trying to be truthful about a gift that she had never fully understood herself. "Ja, I suppose I can to some extent. I can make a guess."

"A guess?" Carl asked, his brow knitting with a mixture of disappointment and then curiosity. "Well...what's your guess?"

Mavis shrugged, pointing south. "That way."

"But that's the way we're already going," Carl protested.

A large sardonic smile curved the witch's lips, as she nodded. "Ja...isn't _that _lucky."

* * *

After several hours of walking, they came upon the first sighting of the Archeron River, glittering like a tremendous gaudy snake in the distance. All along its shores were crowds of people from whom loud cries of lamentation and curses arose. 

"Carl, what do we need to know about this?" Van Helsing asked as he checked his weapons. Beside him, Benerd did the same, making sure the canister for the tojo gun was full and ready.

"Oh..well, there is supposed to be a ferryman named Charon here. By all accounts he's an elderly, irascible fellow who requires payment. He won't take the living across, but it's written that passage can be bought by using the Golden Bough in addition to the usual coins."

"Any _monsters_?" Van Helsing asked pointedly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Carl blushed.

"No, no monsters mentioned. Although..."

"Now we get to it." The hunter stopped dead, turning to face Carl with his arms across his chest. "Although?"

The friar rubbed his nose as he blinked up at the hunter, an apologetic grimace on his mouth that stretched his lips into the semblance of a chagrined pumpkin. "There _is_ mention of the possibility of Charon actually being a rather large demon with a double-headed hammer."

"Mmm, that would put a different complexion on things," Van Helsing sighed. "But it should be alright as long as we have the mistletoe, right?"

"Oh yes. I haven't read anything that contradicts that."

Van Helsing nodded, but he still stood before Carl, arms folded, waiting.

The friar fidgeted, blinking, before he frowned at the hunter. "That's it, Gabriel. _Really_, damnit!"

The hunter turned then, and proceeded toward the glimmering river, making sure the huffing friar didn't see the grin stretched across his face.

Benerd patted Carl solicitously. He had never seen this side of either man before and he was finding that the little altercations between them were serving as a pleasant distraction to the dismalness all around them. Secretly, he hoped they would continue. Besides, a huffing, fluffed-up Carl was a rather humorous sight and Benerd urgently needed a good laugh.

Once they sighted the river, the time it took to actually reach it seemed remarkably short. It had taken them what felt like the better part of the day to sight it—it took only moments to reach it.

As they approached, the crowds gathered there pulled back, drawing their draperies aside as if they didn't want to risk the slightest chance of coming in contact with the party. Carl shrugged at Van Helsing's look of inquiry and the hunter had to be content with that.

The river itself proved to be a thick, slow moving deluge of darkness that reminded the travelers unpleasantly of old blood.

Upon the river's treacly surface, a small high-sided craft made its way back from the opposite shore toward them, being guided by what appeared to be an old man, dressed in rags, who was so thin that he appeared almost skeletal.

Carl nudged Van Helsing with a smug air and found great satisfaction in the hunter's shrug of acceptance. Benerd mentally chalked the 'Gabriel/Carl Altercation Score' as 1/1 and waited for the next events with a tad more eagerness than he might have ordinarily felt.

Charon had almost reached the bank when the foursome arrived on the muddy shelf. The soil was sticky and heavy on their boots, as if it wanted to suck them down into its grimy sanctums. Benerd, particularly, was having a difficult time of it and time-and-time again had to be pulled from the mud's sucking embrace. The boatman seemed to derive a great deal of amusement from the sight, his high-pitched yelping cackles could be heard easily as he danced bandy-legged on the rocking bottom of his skiff.

"Hee hee! That'll teach you! You've no business bein' alive and on the river, no business at all! Go ahead and rot in the river mud for all I care! I've all the time in the world to sit high and dry whilst you sink for my amusement! Sink away, sink away!"

"Happy fellow, isn't he," Van Helsing muttered as he yanked Benerd free.

"Disgusting, you mean," Carl huffed, rolling up his sleeves. "Let me handle this, I know how to deal with these types of fellows!"

As the other three watched, Carl waded out to the very edge of the water, where the dark liquid almost lapped at the toes of his boots. Charon had ceased his ranting and capering and was now watching Carl with a decidedly hostile air.

"Get away you!" the old man screamed, lifting the long wide-bladed paddle from the water to wave it in dripping swipes at the friar. "Get your filthy feet out of my water! Damn you to the 7th level you miserable foul excrescence!"

"Now none of that, you revolting excuse for a mud turtle!" Carl cut off the boatman's tirade with a wave of his hand. "Alive we may be, but we have something that will allow us passage regardless! So no more of your disgusting foul mouth—you've got legitimate customers on legitimate business and you can damned well lump it!"

"Carl," Van Helsing began doubtfully, but was drowned out by the boatman's resounding shriek of rage.

"'Foul mouth' is it! You haven't heard foul yet, you befrocked excuse for a wet-  
nosed, knuckle-pated boy! I'll turn your hair white! I'll flay your bones to make my seat cushion! Damned if I don't come over to set you an example!"

The old man began to vigorously scull his craft through the dark waters; as he rapidly approached the bank Carl found himself rethinking his original position on the matter and quickly picked his way back to Van Helsing.

"Er...there you go, Gabriel. Quite easy, actually. Now, you've only to give him the mistletoe and the coins." Pushing the items into the hunter's hand, Carl waved Van Helsing to the shore, then folded his arms with the determined air of a man who has done his job and is well out of it.

Van Helsing eyed the friar, seriously considering tossing him to Charon to sort it out himself, but ultimately only sighed and turned to meet the boatman. Wading out onto the shore, he approached the lapping water and the incoming skiff.

Charon was plying his craft with a strapping strength that belied his scrawny appearance. Head down, greasy white skin running with sweat, he forced his wobbling craft through the water at high speed until, when only yards away, he looked up with a gleefully malicious smile on his face that revealed a set of toothless gums. The smile, however, disappeared quickly as he beheld the hunter flourishing a sprig of mistletoe at him.

"What!" the old man barked, staring at the dark man before him. "You're...that's not fair! I can't touch you! No no no no no!" Stamping on the floorboards of his boat until they squealed, the old man drew his paddle from the water and threw it into the boat. Wheezing and huffing, Charon pointed a skinny, boney finger at the hunter as he snarled, spitting with rage.

"You don't get off that easily! There's nothing I can do to stop you from crossing, but I can still pay your little friend back proper!"

Van Helsing frowned, fingering the crossbow he carried over his shoulder as the old man began to caper once again, this time his reedy voice raised in an unintelligible chant that had a pleading note to it. As Charon spoke, the water about the boat began to boil and the dark glossy surface rose higher and higher, first into a mound then into a column that rapidly increased in height and width. Oddly, it didn't swamp the vessel—instead the water began to approach the shore, rising to a height of six feet when it was still several feet away.

Van Helsing recognized the shape as man-like, balanced on a central tapering base, with clearly recognizable arms, trunk and head. He backed away as it continued to approach, floating on and gathering substance from the river water.

Behind him the other three approached and he felt the friar's fingers on his waist now as the blond man peered over his shoulder.

"Oh dear," Carl gulped, "that doesn't look good, does it."

"Do you think the flame gun will be able to handle it?" Van Helsing asked, as he eyed the rippling surface of the effigy and was shocked to see fish and water reeds floating in it.

"Er...I don't know actually. I suppose we could try."

"Hold off, until we know what it is," Van Helsing ordered and stepped forward to meet the figure as it arrived at the shore. The central column split and two legs formed, allowing the effigy to stride over the mud, leaving puddles of water behind it.

It advanced to within a few feet before stopping, cocking its head as the featureless eyes appeared to take in the group. When its mouth opened and it spoke, Van Helsing wasn't surprised by the voice that came from it.

"Gabriel, I am pleased you have arrived at last." Dracula's voice issuing from the watery creature had Carl moving forward quickly—only Van Helsing's restraining arm halted the friar, forcing down the flame gun he had brought to bear.

Dracula's head turned to Carl and the liquid lips curved upwards in a smug smile.

"And the little friar, too. It feels almost like home now."

"It should, Vlad," Van Helsing answered, as he eyed the vampire curiously. "This will be your home for a very long time, after all."

"True, thanks to you, my friend," the vampire bowed slightly with mocking courtly grace. "Once again, I underestimated you. As you are here though, it appears that I will yet have the last laugh."

"Why bother? It won't get you out of here and your brides are gone. There won't be any more of your children to plague the world."

"Nooo," Dracula sighed mockingly. "You have seen to that–ahh, my brides, I feel your loss. Van Helsing, you have forced me to become a flexible man, I have learned to adapt my goals to my new situation. I should be happy, now, just knowing that you are as trapped as I, at my beck and call for all eternity."

An answering growl from the wolf rumbled within Van Helsing's chest. "You can call all you wish, Dracula. Don't count on me rushing to attend any time soon."

Dracula's answering laughter caused the hunter's dark eyebrows to rise and his fingers to tighten on the crossbow resting on his shoulder. The vampire seemed to be enjoying himself far too much.

"Gabriel, Gabriel," Dracula wheezed, his entire body shivering in little wavelets. "I am glad that you haven't lost your acid tongue. It would not truly be you without it. I shall enjoy our debates for the centuries to come."

"You'll never get the chance!" Carl snapped, moving forward, ignoring Van Helsing's hiss to stay back. "You're a nasty little bat that we swatted down once, and we'll do it again, like the vermin you are. Gabriel is three times the man you were when you were alive and a 100 times better than the sorry excuse for a pall that you are now. So shoo! Go away!"

Everything stood still for several seconds; Van Helsing gritted his teeth on a groan as the vampire, for the first time, devoted his full attention to the friar.

Smoothly, the Count's body flowed over the intervening ground to stand before Carl, then with hands clasped behind him, the vampire lord circled the friar thoughtfully. "Gabriel-the little priest—he seems to like you very much. He defends you with such passion, such wonderful hatred. I can hear his breath heaving in his chest, his heart pounds with anger. This little friar—he loves you..."

The hunter crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent, Carl bit his lip as he directed his eyes to the muddy wallow at his feet and cursed himself for having spoken.

"Gabriel?" Dracula leaned forward, as though to peer into the hunter's face, "Do you love the little cleric too? Ah...how charming!" Moving with lithesome grace, Dracula circled behind the hunter, then leaned forward to hook his chin over the hunter's shoulder. Water streamed down in rivulets over Van Helsing's chest as Dracula leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"You took away my life...then you took away the half life that I formed for myself. You shall not be so fortunate as to take away my death–but you are more than welcome to join me in it. And I shall not be so cruel as to exile you to a lonely death, my Gabriel. You may take your love with you."

"I don't intend to die here, Vlad. Not even for the pleasure of seeing you face your just torment every day for eternity. I'll be sorry to miss that."

Dracula smiled smugly as he stepped back, his hand moving to cover his heart.

"You make me very happy, Gabriel, with your warm regards. Truly, there is a bond between us through life and death, is there not?"

The vampire dismissed the hunter, his eyes moving to Carl as a feral smile crept over his lips.Swaying slightly, Draculaextended his armsas if dancing to unseen music.

"Beautiful music...mesmerizing...irresistible..."

"Music?" Carl asked, shuddering as the vampire turned to him with a gentle smile, arms coming up to hug himself, patting the rippling chest rapidly.

"The music of your beating heart, little friar," Dracula purred, his voice languid and sultry, drawing out each word with ineffable pleasure. "What _wonderful music _you make."

Moving gracefully away from Carl, back toward the river, the vampire spared only a curious glance for the monk and the grim witch, bowing his head to them. Then he turned back to the river, entering it to the hips before looking back over his shoulder with a pretty coyness.

"You were always too easily led astray, Gabriel-too eager to embrace the dictates of someone else's conscience. It is something that time will allow me to correct," the vampire lord purred. "As for your friar...I think, my Gabriel, that as you love him so well, I shall too."

The form of the vampire turned and abruptly lost cohesion, splashing back into the river and flowing over the shore to leave little silver fish flopping on the mud until they wiggled their way back into their liquid element.

* * *

All eyes then turned to the friar who stood, almost ankle deep in mud, twisting his robe between his hands with a high flush flaming upon his pale cheeks. 

"Gabriel, I'm so..." Carl began wretchedly, then squawked with surprise as the hunter seized him by the shoulders and dragged his face close so that Van Helsing's warm breath gusted over Carl and mingled with the friar's own panting exhalations.

"Carl," Van Helsing growled as he clenched the wool of Carl's robe in his hands. "No foolish chances, remember! Damnit, you promised!"

"I...I know," the friar stammered and yelped when the hunter thrust him away to shake Carl so that his teeth rattled.

Benerd pushed forward immediately, shoving between the two men until they were separated, each breathing heavily and glaring at one another.

"What's done is done," the monk scolded them. "We'll just need to be as careful as we can and be prepared for whatever he may throw at us. But we should cross now, if the old devil will take us."

"We'll cross if I have to throw him into the river and row us to the other side myself," Van Helsing retorted and turned to stride across the mud to the lapping water.

The old man, seeing that his summoning had accomplished all he could have hoped for, meekly sculled the boat to shore. As if on cue, the shrouded crowds that had heretofore been silent onlookers began to raise their voices in piteous cries once again as they pushed forward toward the ferry. Charon lifted his paddle and set to with a vengeance, letting it fall with dreadful whacking noises over the crowd's backs, driving them, cowering, away.

"I can understand fighting to get to _this_ side of the river–but why are they trying to hard to get _into_ Hell?" Benerd eyed the mass of people trying to board dubiously.

"I don't think they can help themselves," Carl replied sadly. "It's their punishment under God's law to come and atone here–this is their life now and they must live it. It's not like above, where you make your own destiny. Here, to cross the river is an imperative."

Charon finished driving back the crowds and now, reluctantly, he gestured to the foursome, collecting the mistletoe and the coins with an avarice not even his sullen hatred could quell. He said nothing, but his dark sunken eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure as Carl entered the skiff, moving to the far end to seat himself. Van Helsing made a point of choosing to sit beside the friar, his eyes on the dark water as if expecting a hand to emerge and snatch the friar from the boat.

The process of maneuvering out into the dark river again was punctuated by the old man's mumbled imprecations that no one could understand and no one wanted to clarify. Neither the friar nor the hunter spoke, each deep in their own thoughts that caused the darkest of frowns.

Mavis sighed inwardly as she watched the two men. It occurred to her that giving them both a solid whacking about the ears would not be amiss. Hadn't she _told_ the hunter not to be pig-headed? Hadn't she _told_ him he and the friar would need to be steadfast in their love if they wished to make it through Hell intact? Now the headstrong man and his equally mulish friend were doing their best to do the exact opposite. The pair were a trial and a tribulation; she could well understand the Cardinal's rantings now, a fact that didn't please her at all.

* * *

Their crossing was uneventful for the most part. No one spoke and no one looked at anything but the water or their own knees. Carl hated the silence. He felt guilty and quite regretful about losing his temper with Charon and then Dracula. Intentionally or not, he'd endangered them all and was responsible for Gabriel's anger now. He knew the hunter wasn't angry with him, rather Carl was catching the spillover of Gabriel's worry. Still…. 

Shaking his head at the thoughts that ran round and round in his brain like a mouse on a wheel, the friar heaved a gusty sigh of relief as he spotted the shore approaching. When they disembarked, Gabriel would ask him where they were headed next and that would give Carl the opportunity to initiate a conversation. Once they got to talking about the journey, the strain they all felt would dissipate. Hopefully.

The flat-bottomed ferry scraped along the river bank as the passengers clung to the algae-slicked sides grimly. Charon seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from making the landing as rough as possible and Van Helsing gritted his teeth against the impulse to kick the fellow overboard into his beloved river.

With a final wrenching heave, the boat at last stopped moving and the four stood up gratefully. Mavis lifted her skirts high, fixing a quelling look on Charon that served to cut short the old man's half-uttered ribaldry. Next was Benerd, who also had to lift his robe's skirt and had to suffer the full brunt of Charon's lewd humor. Van Helsing moved forward next and upon reaching the boat's high side, turned to help Carl over it.

Charon, with black eyes glittering like diamonds in his pale skull, abruptly thrust his lolling paddle into the mud, causing the boat to lurch back into the water while Van Helsing tumbled over the side and onto the river bank. Carl fell flat on his back on the boat's bottom as the river seized and rocked the craft.

Cackling madly, Charon began to scull vigorously toward deep water, pushing the vessel so quickly that it left a churning wake behind it.

"Stop, Stop!" Carl shouted, elbowing himself up to a sitting position to stare helplessly as the shore moved away at an alarming pace. On the bank, he saw Van Helsing rise, white teeth bared as he glared after the boat.

Charon brought the boat to the center of the river before he ceased his strong exertions and allowed the boat to slow and then settle, bobbing like a cork over the deep water. His manner was now expectant and highly pleased and the look he fixed Carl with made the friar's skin prickle and his hair stand on the back of his neck.

And then, several things happened abruptly—the water began to bubble and boil, rising before Carl's horrified eyes. Van Helsing shrugged off his coat and threw himself into the water, swimming strongly toward the boat while behind the hunter a churning mass of tentacles appeared and pursued Van Helsing.

"Oh my God," Carl breathed, uncertain what threat to deal with first as he backed away from the watery figure taking shape beside the boat. Whirling to the boatman, Carl pulled the flame gun to the front, sighting it on Charon. Tapping the weapon meaningfully, the friar gestured at the watery figure.

"I don't want to go with that thing—whatever it is—and you don't want to see how this gun works. So take me back to the shore, quickly."

"Ha ha ha ha," Charon wheezed with delight, clapping his hands as he all but bent double in his mirth. "Go ahead, shoot me. Can't force blood from a stone, laddy, and I'm as dead as any stone—so fire away!"

"Damnit!" Carl swore as he whirled, spotting Van Helsing rapidly approaching and behind him some very hungry looking tentacles. The column of rising water had taken a definite form and Carl winced at being confronted by Dracula once again.

"Little friar," the vampire lord bowed over the boat in a strangely courtly gesture that made Carl feel alternately gawky and then angry with himself for that temporary lapse. This wasn't a fancy dress ball at the Vatican—it was the middle of a river in Hell and the demon facing him wasn't concerned with manners.

"Dracula," Carl forced the word out, grateful that his voice was steady if a little rough. "Still hanging about I see?"

"Of course," the vampire said pleasantly, his mouth curving into a mocking smile. "We hardly had a chance to talk, and I could not pass up the opportunity to renew your acquaintance. Of course, this is not the way I would have wished to do so—my castle in Transylvania would have been a great deal more pleasant, but alas, as you can see, I am no longer in a position to offer you that hospitality. But perhaps you would enjoy sampling some of the amenities my new home offers?"

"Ah…no, not really," Carl resisted the urge to fidget, instead backing further away until the far edge of the boat hit his knees. His eyes darted away to the river and he was horrified when he realized he didn't see Van Helsing–only the smooth undisturbed reflective surface.

"Gabriel!" Carl lifted his weapon, aiming it at Dracula as his brows drew down in forbidding anger. "Alright, you, you've had your fun. Now just go away!"

The watery figure seemed to give the friar's threat some consideration, but the smile curving the thinned lips made Carl shudder.

Suddenly, the boat tipped alarmingly to the opposite side, rocking violently as an algae-covered tentacle slapped at the side, swiping at the boatman. Charon shouted his anger and struck at the tentacle with his paddle until the green appendage dropped back into the water with a loud plop. Hemming and hawing to himself, the boatman looked over the side and prodded below the surface with the oar's wide blade.

Immediately, the oar jerked violently downward, yanking the unwary boatman off balance and catapulting him headfirst into the black water. From the churning water a pale, green-stained hand emerged and clutched at the boat's side followed by a heavy figure, wrapped in tentacles oozing green blood and algae. With unmistakable weariness, the figure dropped into the boat, pulling with it the former boatman's oar from the water and dropped it into the boat's bottom.

Carl blinked as Van Helsing shoved his wet hair from his face to fix Dracula with a glare.

"This was your idea?" the hunter asked, waving at the boat and the river about them.

"Gabriel, your distrust is so distasteful to me. Unlike my lands in the Carpathians, I do not control the souls around me in this place. I merely appreciate the unexpected entertainments they provide me."

"Unexpected…" Van Helsing shook his head as he forced himself to his feet. With a groan, he lifted the oar, dipping it into the water to paddle the boat back to shore.

Carl peered into the inky liquid but could see no sign of the boatman. "Gabriel…Charon?"

"Probably filleting his grabby little friend." The hunter grimaced as he kicked at a severed tentacle draped over the side of the boat, shoving it over to fall into the water with a loud splash.

Beside the boat, Dracula kept pace with their progress, hands behind his back, walking on the water as if it were the carpeted halls of a great manor. The symbolism of the act of walking on water didn't fail to catch Carl's attention nor did the Count's smug smile that he darted at the friar with boyish impudence.

"Is he going to follow us all the time?" Carl whispered to the hunter.

Van Helsing shook his head, his lips set in a thin frowning line.

Dracula, however, seemed in keen spirits. "Would you like my company, little friar? Truly, this place does not offer much in the way of entertainment… I believe you, however, would afford me that pleasure I hunger for…."

"Leave him out of it," Van Helsing growled, his lips drawing back to reveal white teeth bared in a snarl.

The vampire lord's head canted to one side as he studied the hunter, then the watery shoulders rippled in a shrug.

"If you desire it, Gabriel, then I will forego the pleasure of bettering my acquaintance with your little friend. But you cannot deny me the opportunity to renew _our _old friendship. You will not deny me."

Carl yanked up the flame gun as the water reared up hugely, then just as suddenly lost cohesion, dropping in a drenching wave into the boat's bottom and back into the river.

In the still air, Dracula's whispering words remained, making both men shudder.

"You will give me back my life, my passion. Goodbye for now, my friends."

tbc


	6. Blood Wars Part 6 REVISED

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel

**Series/Sequel: Sequel to _ADiscovery an Disillusion and AHide and Seek_**

Summary: Limbo is reached and old acquaintances are renewed

Notes: **REVISED CHAPTER-**I'm trying something new with this story, something that I didn't do in Discovery or Hide and Seek. In order to accomplish what I need to do in this story I need to present _much more_ of the antagonist's (Paul's) point of view. With that in mind, I've re-written the dream sequence from Paul's point of view. I'll re-write chapter 7 as well in the same way. I hope that this doesn't confuse you—if it does, let me know. What I have planned needs the dreams to be done this way for Paul only. In the dreams that he is part of, it will be his voice, for the most part, and how he sees Carl and those around him. I hope that you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Raphe1, ****Nikoru Sanzo, ****Iblis, ****Verona Dracula, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Lady Deb 1970, ****Jania, ****Gnomey, ****Curious Dreamweaver**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**_

* * *

_****Blood Wars 6**

Once they emerged from the river, the four travelers stood gratefully upon the solid surface of the southern shore. Charon never emerged from his underwater bout with whatever tentacled horror had pulled him under. Since the ferryman was already dead, very little sympathy was spared for his plight by his former customers.

Leading the way up from the shore to a small hill overlooking the glittering river, Van Helsing dropped down onto the scrubby brown grass that grew there with a sigh of relief. His companions followed his example gratefully, Benerd going so far as to recline completely with an arm thrown over his eyes.

Carl seated himself gingerly beside the hunter, half expecting a lecture and half resenting having to wait for it. Casting sidelong looks at the man beside him, the friar bit his lip as he attempted to work out Van Helsing's mood.

Van Helsing, well aware of the friar's unease, stifled the urge to give way to his need to smother Carl in over-protectiveness-instead, he counted to 10 and then to 100 as he gathered his frayed nerves. Carl was a grown man, more than capable of making his own decisions and facing their consequences. He didn't need Van Helsing to belittle those decisions or to lecture him like a school boy.

When he reached 100, the hunter released a sigh and settled back onto the grass-propped up on his elbows, ankles crossed, he looked up at Carl.

"Do we know where we're going next?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Next? Good Lord, I haven't had time to take a deep breath yet, let alone consider where we're going next!"

"Sounds fair. Why don't you breathe for a while and then we'll take a look at the map."

"Er...all right." Carl frowned at the man beside him with consternation but allowed himself to settle prone upon the coarse grass with a sigh of relief. They had not paused for a rest in the entire time they had been traveling, a fact that was rapidly becoming obvious as Carl's tired muscles all but groaned in relief.

"We need to be thinking about where we're going to spend the night...assuming there _is_ a night here," Van Helsing observed, squinting up at the lowering sky speculatively.

"I don't recall reading anything about night particularly," Carl sighed as he folded his hands over his chest and allowed his body to sink into perfect relaxation. "I think our best bet would be to see if we can rest on the next level. It shouldn't contain anything worse than those souls consigned there for being pagans. Actually, we should run into some very fascinating people there."

"Hmph. I think the only things that could fascinate me right now are a hot bath and a good night's sleep."

"Yes, of course, you must be exhausted," Carl sat up to look at the other man with sympathy and remorse. "Gabriel, I really am quite sorry about all of that. I shouldn't have spoken to him-to either of them-in that fashion."

"It's all right, Carl. You don't need to apologize to me for anything. Our troubles with Dracula are my fault to begin with . . . ."

"What? Of course it's not your fault! How could you know that we'd have to fight him again? The man is like tar on your shoe-you can never really get it off, no matter how you scrape at it."

A loud snort answered Carl's words and the friar looked up in surprise from his heated defense of the hunter to find the man red-faced with bulging cheeks and struggling to hold back laughter.

"What? What are you laughing at? Something I said?"

Giving up the ghost, Van Helsing fell back in the grass and laughed long and loudly, holding his ribs as he rocked in the crackling grass. Behind them, Benerd's tonsils were much in evidence as he brayed, while Mavis shook her head at grown men who turned into giggling boys at the first opportunity.

Carl surveyed the lot of them with open-faced wonder.

"Well...fancy that! They've both gone completely bonko!"

**

* * *

**An hour later and they were on their way again with the promise of a proper rest in the Village of Pagans, confidently expected by Carl to be their next landmark. Both he and Benerd were looking forward to meeting the men and women of history there; Mavis held her own counsel but had firm expectations of finding the first of their ranks of helpers there as well. Van Helsing thought only of a hot bath as he walked with squelching boots through the burned grass under the perpetually lowering sky. He was aware of the cold, unpleasant feeling of the river water in his clothing along with the rank stench of his tentacled assailant's blood liberally smeared over him. In short, he stank, and a bath at this point was the only heaven he could imagine. 

As they trudged over the hilly terrain, they noted with some unease that the grey sky now often hosted flying shapes that were too high above them to make out properly. To Van Helsing's inquiries, Carl could only again stipulate that Limbo was their next destination and no mention of any intervening trials had appeared in his studies. While appreciating the assurances of Carl's sources, all of the travelers nevertheless grimly readied their weapons, holding them ready with one eye skyward as they continued on their course.

There were no trails, no signs, nothing to assure them that they were traveling in the right direction. Carl hypothesized that, as they were still living, such trails and guides would not be visible to them as they would be to the recently departed. They had to rely on the most general of directions and hope they weren't too far off course.

Inexorable time ground by as they trudged wearily on, never sighting any sign of their eventual destination nor were they able to catch more than fleeting glimpses of their relentless ariel companions. By Carl's time piece, they had been journeying for more than twenty-four hours with very little rest and all were in dire need of safe and deep slumbers. Not even the promise of meeting the great minds of history held more interest than sleep now for Carl and Benerd. Only Mavis trudged on with grim purpose and apparent indefatigable energy. It was her example that kept Carl and Benerd from giving up or voicing their complaints. Van Helsing had set his jaw stubbornly hours before and now kept a ground-eating pace of which he was barely aware. His entire attention was on the skies above and the grasslands about them.

None of them noted the fact that the harsh brown grasses were giving way to fresher green stalks until they were surrounded by a verdant field. Their hot burning eyes took in the cool greens with pleasure and renewed hope as they quickened their steps.

And then, suddenly, they were there.

Where only a green field had been before, suddenly they were confronted with dwellings of all kinds that sprang up so quickly they had to stumble back or run headlong into the buildings.

All about them, people were appearing, looking at them with wonder. Van Helsing breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the villagers seemed to take the new comers in stride. It seemed too good to be true, but while there were no smiles of welcome, nor were there any signs of hostility either.

A tall grey-haired man approached them where they stood, swaying with fatigue at the head of what appeared to be the main street. He was dressed in a tunic of good thick wool and heavy leather trousers. He was heavily bearded and carried a large leather-bound book in the crook of one strongly muscled arm.

"Strangers," he called to them as he came within hailing distance, "Be of good cheer. Whilst you have business, no doubt, herein, all here see you be of the living nation rather than those accustomed to the shades."

"What?" Van Helsing muttered, cocking a dark eyebrow at Carl with some annoyance. The stranger's words didn't sound like an invitation to a bath and sleep and anything less wasn't going to satisfy the hunter.

"Ah...he's..saying that we're welcome here, and that they know that we're not dead," Carl murmured and nodded at the man before them. "Yes," he spoke loud enough for the crowd in the street to hear, "Thank you for your welcome. You're right, we're still very much alive, but we have business that must be seen to. Er...I realize we've simply dropped in unannounced, but would it be possible to rest here in your village?"

"Certes," the man bowed. "I am Andrus. With pleasure we bid you welcome. This place appears as one with other such places. Take your leisure at the house above street. We may parlay at your convenience once you have enjoyed your slumber."

"Slumber, I recognize that one," Van Helsing noted, brightening visibly.

"Thank you, Andrus. We are Van Helsing," Carl gestured to the hunter, then to Benerd, Mavis, and himself, introducing each accordingly. "We're very grateful for the offer of a place to rest. Is there any chance for a bath?"

"Bath?" Andrus queried with dismaying perplexity. "Be you speaking of submergence in water?"

"Yes, that's right," Carl nodded firmly. "Or at least a supply of clean water so that we may scrub off the dirt of our journey?"

Understanding dawned over Andrus' features for which Van Helsing gave muted but profuse thanks. He didn't know if he could stand one more hour of smelling himself and he had no faith that his companions liked his odorous company any better.

"Ah!" Andrus nodded, shrugging as he gestured further up the street and slightly to the right. "All ages dwell here, and customs as barbarous as submergence in water are common to some. You'll find such a place to cater to your needs above street and south. When done, retire as you will, all will be in readiness."

"Thank you!" Carl smiled, bowing slightly. Andrus following suit, bowed as well before stepping aside to allow the travelers to move on.

Taking the bemused Van Helsing firmly by the elbow, Carl towed the man after him in the direction of the promised bath house. At least, he assumed that was what Andrus had been referring to when he spoke of the 'barbarous custom of submergence.'

The street they found themselves on was merely pressed dirt, but it was edged with worked cobbles and was in good repair. They were able to follow it as indicated without difficulty and all of them sighed with happy expectation as a building appeared before them with a large sign plainly depicting a large tub of blue water.

The building turned out to be a simple four-sided square with crude pipes circulating water in and out of a large round wooden tub. Not even the promise of splinters from the roughly milled planks could deter their enthusiasm for the sparkling water.

By mutual consent via three hands pushing Van Helsing firmly to the tub, the hunter was allowed the first bath. He didn't bother arguing; instead, he immediately stripped off and eased into the tub with a groaning sigh of satisfaction. Behind him, he heard Mavis sniff but couldn't work up any embarrassment at the witch having seen his naked backside. He had no doubt she had seen plenty of the same previously in her lifetime.

Mindful of the plentiful splinters, Van Helsing eased down into the water until it covered his head. Holding his breath for as long as possible, he only reluctantly bobbed to the surface when lack of oxygen threatened to knock him out.

A palm-sized white object flew over his shoulder and landed in the bath with a splash. Blinking the water from his eyes, Van Helsing felt about for it and found a cake of Brother Felcher's soap already lathering luxuriously on the tub bottom.

"Use that," Carl instructed him firmly. "All over. I don't want to sleep with you smelling like Charon's little pet tonight."

"Mmmmm!" was the only answer Van Helsing was capable of giving as he cradled the soap to his nose and inhaled deeply. With due reverence, he lathered himself until he resembled a large soap bubble, then submerged again. A hand tapped him on the shoulder when he reemerged and Carl took possession of the soap, telling him to lean forward.

With sybaritic pleasure and continuous noises of approval, the hunter allowed the friar to wash his back.

"Not exactly a week in my tin tub with a cask of Brother Archibald's best, but not bad either," Carl observed as he ran his hands over the slippery flexing muscles along Van Helsing's back. Now that Van Helsing had spent some quality time with Brother Felcher's soap, the friar was finding his mate's naked form a great deal more distracting. He was enjoying touching Van Helsing's skin, squeezing his muscles, and kneading his shoulders to the accompaniment of what amounted to a deep rumbling purr.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt you to get in here with me," Van Helsing observed.

"I can't, Carl spluttered, darting a look at the heavy rippling cloth that hung from the bathhouse doorway separating the bathers from the street.

"Why?"Van Helsing asked as he diligently soaped his toes, removing every last trace of the odious River Archeron.

"Well...Mavis...Benerd... The water isn't clean," Carl finished lamely, flushing when Van Helsing snorted and gestured with soapy toes at the dirty water being cycled out of the tub and new water being delivered via the complicated system of pipes.

"The water in this tub is cleaner than what you sit in while soaking in your tub at home. And Mavis has seen things a lot odder than two men bathing together. Now get in here. She'll probably be pleased that you're done bathing so she can have her's sooner."

With some trepidation, Carl removed his clothing and eased into the tub. As expected, the large bath easily accommodated them both and soon Carl was being treated to a back scrubbing of his own. It was by exercising immense willpower that he kept from groaning loudly and enthusiastically as Van Helsing kneaded and scrubbed his back in powerful strokes, rendering Carl almost limp with pleasure. An unexpected dunking roused Carl from his near sleeping state and Van Helsing passed him the soap with commiseration before climbing out of the bath to rifle through their packs for clean clothing.

Sighing, Carl lathered up hurriedly and rinsed with regret. Then, leaving the soap floating forlornly by itself on the surface of the water, the friar reluctantly dragged himself out of the tub to accept the clean robe Van Helsing handed him.

They dressed quickly and were ushering the witch in for her bath within ten minutes. The two men grinned at each other when the heavy rug falling into place as they left the bath house didn't quite muffle Mavis' own groan of pleasure.

Benerd, looking woefully scruffy, eyed the two newly clean men with a wistfulness that made Van Helsing want to laugh and prompted Carl to pat the monk gingerly on his dusty shoulder.

"We'll meet you up the street," Carl advised the monk. "We'll see to the rooms. Come when you're ready."

"All right," Benerd agreed with a tired smile. "I must say, I can hardly wait to slide between clean sheets for about a week.

"Enjoy it while you can; I doubt there will be baths and clean beds after this," Van Helsing advised the monk.

Hunter and friar took their leave to scout out the beds Andrus had promised them. Their resting place came in the form of a house that apparently was meant for new comers to Hell. The irony of such hospitality wasn't lost on either man, but even looking full into the gaping jaws of this gift horse couldn't diminish their need for sleep.

There were several rooms to select from with all kinds of sleeping arrangements-Van Helsing and Carl had no difficulty in finding a room with a large bed that would suit them both. Shedding their clothes as quickly as possible, they slipped into the bed and into each others arms. Resignedly, they realized they were too tired for anything more strenuous than tangling limbs and holding one another close as they slid into a deep sleep.

* * *

_Hard stone was beneath his booted feet-whirling to take in the room about him, Van Helsing realized he was in some type of interior corridor. He didn't recognize it, though looking at the wide expansive thruway with its walls muffled in thick colorful tapestries, he felt he should. Running his hand over one such tapestry, he marveled at the artistry that went into the weaving of the jewel-toned threads that made up the hunting scene depicted. The tapestry was immense, well in-scale with the echoing hallway. Opulence, in the form of rich wooden furniture and golden-toned candelabra with fat aromatic candles made him gape with wonder and smooth his own clothing down self-consciously. His hands on his clothing made him look down and frown to find he was dressed in clothes that he had never seen before-dark supple leather breeches, a crisp white linen shirt open at the throat beneath a black, close-fitting leather vest that was buttery soft to the touch. The clothing was comfortable enough, but not what he would have ever chosen for himself. It was too tight, too elegant, hardly useful in a fight though the leather might serve to deflect slashing claws... _

_Pulling himself back from his sartorial musings with a grimace, he turned his attention to assessing his surrounds with an eye more toward defense than appreciation of beauty. Purposely, he strode down the corridor, keeping his footsteps light and his eyes firmly fixed on the well-lit room appearing at the open mouth of the hallway._

_Pausing at the entrance to the grand chamber, he allowed his gaze to take in his surroundings and adjust to the dancing candlelight and the twinkling metals and woods that distracted him. It was the chamber-the castle, evidently-of a very wealthy patron. Everything before him was beautiful and invited him to touch, to appreciate. Standing there amidst the splendor, he felt like a scruffy dog that had stolen up from the kitchens in search of forbidden scraps. He wondered if he did sit on one of the marvelous lounges, would a large irate housekeeper with a swatting broom appear to chase him off._

_No sign of the housekeeper or the patron was apparent, so he entered the room, stepping onto a thick green velvet rug that was large enough to easily cover the great entry of St. Peter's Palace. It felt incredible beneath the impractically thin soles of his borrowed boots. Frowning and rolling his eyes at the almost overwhelming urge to dig his toes into the lush pile, Van Helsing moved further into the room. The deep burnished cherry color of a leather chair drew his fingers and he stroked the beautiful thing with wonder. It felt warm, almost alive beneath his touch, and exuded an almost decadent invitation to him to settle into its soothing embrace._

_He recognized that he was tired, not unexpectedly, and it took a great deal of will power to move on; his hazel eyes darted about the room, looking for any sign of who belonged to this wealth. Examination proved there was nothing, though he did find a large table set to one side and loaded down with all manners of food and drink._

_Approaching the feast spread before him, he half expected to hear the table groan with distress beneath its tremendous burden of all things edible. He only recognized a portion of what appeared there, the rest he had to assume was edible due to proximity._

_An enthusiastic gurgle from his philistine stomach reminded Van Helsing that he hadn't eaten in a very long time. He licked his lips as he eyed the food spread so wantonly before him and then forced himself to turn away._

_"You always were the very image of incorruptible strength, my friend," a mocking voice drawled._

_Van Helsing whirled about, his gaze going unerringly to the chair that had so tempted him before. Sprawled, one long leg cast carelessly over a rounded chair arm, a fine crystal goblet containing a swirling ruby liquid held lightly within tapering white fingers, Dracula smiled as he toasted Van Helsing before drinking deeply._

_

* * *

My Love has come to me at last. I see him, forcing himself to run on into the darkness, his breath bursting from his lungs in agonizing wheezes that threaten to tear his chest apart. I can see his skin is wet with the sweat of his fear, his heart pounds so hard he must hear it within his head like a hammer on an anvil. So tired...he wants to stop running, to collapse upon the gritty hard ground but he can't. He knows these dark catacombs and what lives within them-monsters of every description. Their growls, hisses, and heavy lumbering treads follow him, always just a few paces behind. If he stops, they will catch him. I want to tell him he's safe, just a few more feet and I will be able to protect him, to rescue him from anything that would hurt him. _

_So close now...he's careening blindly about another corner, his arms hug his stomach as running pains slice viciously through him. His blue eyes are dim from lack of oxygen, he can't keep running, he can't._

_He's fallen to his knees and all about him are the triumphant calls of the beasts behind him as they close in for the kill._

_Don't be afraid, Carl. I would never let them touch you. Not ever._

_Amidst their howling cries and their hot moist breath that pours over him, my sword being drawn sings its own unique song of hot metal sliding over cold. Carl needs protection...I will be that protector._

_The monsters are howling again, this time their voices are raised in an incandescent song of agony as the white metal of my sword slices through them, cutting them down into piles of insensate flesh and congealing blood. I know that Carl can only dimly grasp what is happening within the dark tunnels before him. I'm used to such places; the darkness and I have merged long ago, its velvet mantle is like a warm blanket to me now. It hugs and protects us both—my Love and I. But he doesn't know that it's me yet-I heard his gasp perfectly with the first stroke of my sword, saw him throw himself back against the stone wall of the corridor. He believes that whatever is killing the monsters will most probably turn on him next. He has no faith in the cold stone at his back, I can see it in his eyes, so large and dark, staring blindly outwards...waiting._

_It's best he doesn't see what's happening. To him, the sounds of slaughter must seem horrific in a gruesome detail that he can not help but imagine. They seem to go on forever as the white flash of my sword rises and falls barely a foot from his body. There are dozens, hundreds, of monsters here—I know because I called them. Their purpose is done now and I will give them the release they craved, the freedom they asked for, though they will attain it on a far different plane of existence than they anticipated._

_At last, the final death keening of the last victim. Now, I turn to Carl and see him waiting, eyes dark and wide, waiting for the death he has heard sweeping through these cold tunnels to at last turn to him. He is brave, it breaks my heart to see him so._

_When my sword clatters to the ground, he flinches back against the wall, swallowing hard against the bile of fear rising in his throat. It's time and past time that he knows his protector and knows that he is safe. I feel an unfamiliar joy within me when I fall to my knees and gather him against me in a hard embrace that strains him to my heart. The pain of this joy is almost more than I can bear, as if I'd driven my sword into myself._

_I feel his eyelashes against my neck, blinking in wonder as his body melts against mine in relief. It is inexpressibly agonizing and so heart-breakingly wonderful when I feel his arms slide about me and feel his relief and thanksgiving. He needed me, and I was there. We're on the ground, surrounded by carnage, but Carl closes his eyes and relaxes in my arms. I can feel his body tremble now, not with fear but rather the aftermath of his past exertions. He'll master them shortly...but I felt them, I'll remember them._

_Silently we hold one another. A long time passes before I submit to my need to rub my hands over his back and to have the unspeakable bliss of nuzzling his beloved face. My pleasure lasts only an instant—Carl pulls away, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to pierce the darkness and see his rescuer's face. My breath and hands warm his cold flesh and I know that this comforts him, but he needs to know who I am. He cannot simply rest in a stranger's arms._

_I would not have it any other way..._

_"Who are you?" Carl asked quietly and heard a muffled masculine chuckle before the figure leaned in and pressed his lips to Carl's in a soft wet kiss._

_Blinking, Carl pulled back and felt his lower lip slide out of the other man's mouth with a sucking wet sensuousness._

_"My God," Carl breathed._

_"My Carl," Paul corrected him. "I've missed you so very much."_

tbc


	7. Blood Wars Part 7 REVISED

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel

**Series/Sequel: Sequel to _"Discovery an Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"_**

Summary: Limbo is reached and old acquaintances are renewed, cont'd

_**Notes:** _**REVISED CHAPTER. Chapter 6 and 7 have been revised to provide Paul's point of view during the dream sequence with Carl. I hope you like it, please let me know if you do not.**

_My sources for this story come from several areas. If you are interested in reading more on the subjects brought up, you'll find information in "The Inferno" by Dante, "Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis, "The New Advent", found on-line, and Greco-Roman mythology. There are other sources that you can look into, including the psychology of "Relationships" and "Co- Dependency" as well as some references derived from excerpts of the Jewish "Talmud". Finally, I've found a wealth of information on sundry on-line sources regarding specific subjects (i.e.: what does Cerberus look like?). **Very** interesting stuff and a pretty good read!_

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Jania, ****Trinity The She Devil, ****Gnomey,****Verona Dracula**, **Chibi-Kaz, ****Chaos Dreamer, ****Curious Dreamweaver**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**LIMBO:** Described as the prison of the departed 'just' who are without excessive sin. In texts of several religions, notably, though, of the Catholic and Jewish faiths, Limbo is described as an abode where those consigned, being the unbaptised and those who lived prior to the coming of the messiah, may be happy. Their situation is temporary until it may be be replaced by a condition of final and permanent bliss when the Messianic Kingdom is established. The exact nature of Limbo has been discussed over time and in innumerable texts regarding its varying degrees of severity upon its inhabitants. It is principally on the strength of these Scriptural texts, harmonized with the general doctrine of the Fall and Redemption of mankind, that Catholic tradition has defended the existence of the limbus patrum as a temporary state or place of happiness distinct from Purgatory. _www(dot)newadvent(dot)org/cathen/09256a(dot)htm_

* * *

**Blood Wars 7 Revised**

_"Why am I not surprised at seeing you here?" Van Helsing growled, all thoughts of food and rest forgotten as he left the table to approach the vampire obliquely. The huge room was well-appointed with scattered chairs and lounges, ideal for using as a temporary barrier between himself and the vampire. Alas, only temporary, the hunter recalled ruefully, remembering the extraordinary agility Dracula displayed when they had last met. That memory prompted a question, however. "Why can't I get rid of you?" Van Helsing asked, frowning at the pleased smile upon the vampire's lips._

_"Ah, my friend, it is you who have trespassed on my domain. If you want to be 'rid of me' you must not come to the house of the devil expecting to see angels." This last was spat out and a green glow momentarily lit Dracula's eyes, then died just as quickly to be replaced with the air of insouciant good humor. "Of course, fallen angels are always possible." Again Dracula toasted Van Helsing before taking a sip from the crystal glass he cradled in his hands._

_Nodding slightly in recognition of Dracula's successful opening move in the game of wits they played, Van Helsing gestured at the room about them._

_"This place...it seems familiar. It's certainly homeier than your last castle."_

_Dracula's dark arching eyebrows rose as he took in the surroundings with a mocking air of negligent proprietorship. "I am pleased that you appreciate it," he murmured as his gaze fell once more on the hunter. "And it isn't surprising that you should recognize it–it is the place where you murdered me, after all."_

_Van Helsing ignored the faintly aggrieved air of the comment and instead focused on the familiarity of the room, of the vampire before him. He had murdered Dracula here? Putting aside the staggering thought that he might actually have been present in Dracula's time, he reminded himself that he had been accused of murder many times, always after slaying a monster. He didn't understand how he could be standing here now, with Dracula in this place, but regardless the personal risk he meant to make the most of it in the time available._

_"This place–it's the Valerious Castle of your time," he frowned, as his fingers stroked the silky velvet covering the high-backed lounge he currently stood behind. "Why am I here, now?"_

_The cat's smile that just curved over the corners of Dracula's lips made Van Helsing's fingers itch for his crossbow. With the grace of flowing water, Dracula arose from the chair he had been lounging in, the crystal glass was left upon a chairside table. The hunter noted the vampire lord, too, was dressed differently than he had appeared before–a form-fitting waistcoat hugged his torso, the material was a muted tapestry weave of dark leaves and vines done in greens and purples set on a black background. Beneath the vest, a flowing white linen shirt with drawstrings at the wrists to pull the billowing sleeves closed while the neck remained open to expose white skin to the breast bone. A light wash of dark hair upon the pale chest was unexpectedly more disturbing than the waxen pallor of the skin beneath it–the sight of the glossy mussed hair oddly served to remind the hunter of Dracula's long lost humanity far better than any of the trappings about them. Tearing his eyes away, Van Helsing licked his dry lips as he only dimly took in the rest of Dracula's appearance–tight black velvet breaches enclosing long legs and tall glossy leather boots._

_Well aware of Van Helsing's assessing scrutiny, Dracula waited for the return of the hunter's full attention with the savvy of a true showman._

_"You are here, my Gabriel, because you were drawn–just as I was–to this place. It holds memories for us both. Here is where we both were changed and tied to one another, forever." Dracula gestured widely, as though welcoming Van Helsing home as he stepped, light-footed, over the thick carpet, approaching the hunter with stealthy grace._

_"Tied together forever," Van Helsing grimaced as he moved about the lounge, keeping the distance between them. "Can't say I like that idea much. Sorry."_

_"Don't apologize. I well understand your reticence. It must be very difficult to be here, talking like this, with the man you have killed not once, but twice."_

_"Yes, it's a little depressing," Van Helsing sighed. "Like tar..."_

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_"Nothing... To be strictly honest–I didn't kill a man this last time. And somehow I doubt if I killed one the first time either...?"_

_Dracula nodded, his lips pursing in a subtle pout of thought. "Yes, I suppose, to be strictly honest, you did not kill a man at my castle. But then..."_

_Van Helsing whirled around, stepping back as he confronted Dracula standing now only inches away._

_"You are not strictly a man either," the vampire murmured, one hand rising to negligently flick off a nonexistent speck from Van Helsing's shoulder._

_The lounge which had seemed so comforting as a bulwark before was distressingly and firmly pressed into Van Helsing's back now. He deeply regretted the loss of his own clothing–especially the turtle-necked sweater–as Dracula's eyes assessed him, lingering over his exposed throat._

_And then, Dracula turned away. Blinking, Van Helsing slid away from the lounge, instinctively regaining the distance lost between the vampire and himself._

_"So, my Gabriel," Dracula drawled, his arms crossing over his chest, one hand rising to thoughtfully tap his chin. "I promised you answers, once. Would you like them now?"_

_His head was spinning; he felt like a silly mouse caught by a cunning cat who would delight in spending hours tormenting its prey. The normalcy of their surroundings made the macabre conversation between them all the more difficult to follow. Everything around him was a temptation of one sort or another. Even Dracula. He didn't feel up to the vampire's baiting barbs, he suspected that he never had. So he took refuge, as he always had before, in the inner voice of instinct._

_"Yes. I'd like answers–if they're true."_

_The candlelight twinkled in Dracula's long dark hair and in his dark eyes as he turned back to Van Helsing with a smile._

_"But of course. It would not be half so amusing if they were not true."_

_

* * *

The shudders are back as Carl recognizes me and draws back. I can't fool myself to think that the hands that had felt so wonderfully comforting stroking his back don't now strike fear into him. I've never had a chance to show him how tender my love for him can be, how infinitely precious he is to me. My hands can only feel as hard and unyielding as the bars of a prison to him now. Within his gaze I can see questions–I expected them. He would not truly be my Carl without the omnipresent questions that are so much a part of him. I can easily guess the first of them–how did he come to be here? Of course, he recognizes this place–the catacombs beneath the Palace. Now the next question dawns as he realizes that it's impossible, he can't be back at the Palace, it has to be impossible. _

_This pragmatism within Carl is so in character of the man I know, but I wish it weren't so just the same. I have so many wonderous and magical things to show him and yet I know the scientist within him will question and doubt them all. I need him to believe me, to stop questioning and just trust me. But I think my chances of that are very slim._

_He's remembering now that the last conscious memory he has is of falling asleep beside the Inquisition's lap dog, Van Helsing, in the Village of Pagans. So...this must be a dream. It's devastating to see how eagerly he grasps at this conclusion, absolutely believing Van Helsing's lies that the alternative, to be with me, is too horrible to think of._

_"Paul?" Carl murmurs–I cannot even fool myself to believe that he feels anything except the hope that the man before him is anyone else except me._

_"Yes, Carl, it's me. I'm so happy to see you–it's been so long. I've missed you terribly."_

_"Er...yes..well...you've kept us rather busy these past few months..."_

_The snuff of air that escapes meinforms him I find what he's said to be amusing. An obvious mistake on my part. He didn't intend to amuse me, of course; Carl wouldn't see anything amusing about hordes of beasts tearing men and women apart. All of that pain and suffering for no other reason than one man's...one demon's...amusement. To him it is all such a horrible waste. So easily he dismisses me..._

_As if he is done with me, Carl pushes away, gathering his ragged brown robes preparatory to rising to his feet; I would offer him the world and all its riches, but the only thing he'll accept is my hand on his elbow, helping him to rise. Just as well that he does, Carl is shaky on his feet and so very very tired. Once standing, he faces me, allowing my hands on his arms, his own on mine. 'What next?' I see it in his eyes, the next question. He's so certain that, whatever it might be, he won't enjoy what I might have planned._

_So he moves first. He pats my arm like I'm the dull-witted apprentice he always pictured me to be before dropping his hands and stepping back. It's so hard to let him go, but if he is to trust me, he must feel free. I release him, and see the surprised pleasure in his eyes before Carl turns to survey the catacombs thoughtfully._

_"Of course, this is a dream," he asserts with a commendable display of indifference. "It's nice to be back home, though I can think of other places within the See that I'd enjoy more than these old tunnels."_

_"Of course." I hide the smile I feel with his admission. I can give him this, I can give him the thing he wants and I feel the pleasure well up within me as our surroundings change instantly to Carl's laboratory. "You always did like this place best of all."_

_Carl's nod is distracted–he's a brilliant man, well used to seeing miracles in his work every day. He recovers from his surprise at the change of surroundings quickly. But, as I watch him run his hands over his work table with an obvious pang of auld lang syne, it occurs to me that perhaps, rather, its his love of this place that makes it so easy for him to accept it now. _

I know that he misses his work, the company of other workmen (though he's sure they're hopelessly embittered with justifiable envy), and the predictable turn of the days. I've taken great pains to ensure that everything on the table is as he left it.

_I watch his eyes widen a bit as he spots a few of his projects-in-transition. Scattered about him are the makings of some truly marvelous weapons that he simply hasn't had the time to finish. His genius is undeniable. His ability to hide his thoughts is much less awe-inspiring. I can see it in his eyes, that the makings of the weapons themselves were more than a little suggestive of weapons he would use now. Against me. It's possible that a dream weapon would serve no use against a dream demon, but nothing ventured..._

_I hurt. I feel pain, and remorse, and longing. How am I more of a demon than the monster he curls up with to sleep each night? Carl's not stupid, he has to see that._

_When he turns to me, I can see that he's allowing himself to assess the man before him, me, with new eyes. I'm alive, just as he is. And, like Carl, I am a foreigner to Hell–at least for now. I know that he sees the look of youth and innocence in my eyes. I feel pleasure in his gaze and show it willingly to him. The young bumbling apprentice is gone with the brown robe of the mendicant friar. My clothing is richly detailed and of the finest quality–an intricately woven cashmere sweater that looks and feels soft and warm, tucked into close-fitting trousers. The scuffed boots with the acid stains are gone too–in their place are tall boots so highly polished I know that Carl can see his reflection in them._

_Typically Carl, he notices he can also see other things in the tops of those boots and takes several steps back, smoothing down his robe self-consciously. I want to assure him that I love everything about him, that he doesn't need to be self-conscious about me. But he won't accept it, won't enjoy the thought–not yet._

_So I affect not to notice. Instead, I speak to him, concentrating his mind again on what brings him happiness. "So...you are happy here, aren't you Carl?"_

_"Yes...I'm happy to see it again." Ah, a wary smile touches the corners of his mouth. He is pleased, as I knew he would be. I share his happiness, in this place. Then he goes on, speaking with me as if I were a friend and confidant. "Are you happy to be here, Paul? Do you miss being a friar? Being with other people?"_

_"I miss being with you," I admit this as my pleasure dissipates and I'm left looking at the lab through jaded eyes. We are alone here, the forges stand smokey and idle without the usual bustle and rumble of the craftsmen at work. The spirit of the place seems dulled, quiescent and unnatural in its quietude. If I allow this melancholy to ripen, to lament the fact that this is not the world of men, nor am I welcome there, then I will waste this precious time with Carl. So I turn to him, and find my spirits reviving just looking into his eyes. It was Carl who drew me to this place, he is the heart of this lab, of the Palace itself. I have lost nothing, if I have not lost him._

_"I am so glad that you chose to come to me at last, Carl," I smile shyly while reaching out carefully to stroke one hand down Carl's arm before taking his hand in mine._

_"Ah, well I didn't strictly have a choice now did I?" Carl reminds me sternly. "Paul, there are better ways to capture my attention than sending hordes of monsters against the See."_

_What can I say? What does he want from me? I know that he's surprised when his gentle remonstration results in my dropping his hand and turning away. I know that he can sense the anger and apalling, pitiful dejection within me. And, moved by it, Carl takes my hand and squeezes it and in so doing pulls me from despair into dizzying heights of hope. If I can only make him understand..._

_"Paul?"_

_"I...didn't want to leave you, Carl. I wish that it hadn't been necessary...that I could have been the amiable dull apprentice that you took me for. It would have been so much easier."_

_"I never took you for dull, Paul. And I do miss our talks, sharing our plans for our inventions. It's not too late, you know."_

_"Oh Carl." I can't help myself. I hear my own sigh as I turn and slide my arm about him, pulling him close as I free the hand that Carl held to slide that about him as well. Hugging Carl is a benediction the likes of which I never found within the Church. For him, I may bow my head and rest it upon the scratchy brown material of Carl's robe. To him, I may confess my thoughts and hopes._

_The hug he gives me in return is hesitant, but enough. I feel him patting my back as he unconsciously murmurs nonsensical sounds that are meant to be soothing. With his encouragement, I make my confession._

_"'Goodbye' was never easy to say to you, Carl. Not when I said it at the end of every day...or when I said it in my heart when you got too engrossed in your latest invention to see me standing beside you. I used to think...if I could just catch your attention long enough...if you could only see me clearly, just once...your heart would come freely and you could love me."_

_Lifting my head, I meet Carl's wondering blue eyes and feel a radiant smile upon my face. "I would have given you wings, Carl. I would have given you anything you wanted. Anything you want."_

_And upon his face, is the uneasy blend of uncertainty and pity as he looks into my eyes and sees the man who professes so much love and yet has done such terrible things. Where will his pity take him? It must be to me. It must._

_

* * *

Standing amidst the forgotten splendor of the original Valerious Castle, Van Helsing crossed his arms over his chest as he nodded to the watching vampire. "Amuse me then." _

_"As you wish," Dracula bowed extravagantly, opening his arms in a sweeping genuflection that invited Van Helsing to approach him, to join him when he turned to leave the room._

_With due wariness and full awareness that he was already in the vampire's power, Van Helsing approached and fell in step beside Dracula as they both left the room to emerge into another, this one filled with plants and sunshine._

_Blinking, Van Helsing turned to Dracula in surprise as the vampire closed his eyes and turned his face up to the golden light._

_"Miraculous, isn't it," the vampire murmured._

_"That's not the first word I'd chose when in Hell," Van Helsing answered, then shrugged. "It'll do, though."_

_"It is a wonderful reminder of life, of things lost and not to be regained." Dracula shivered suddenly, and dropped his head, wrapping his arms about himself briefly, before dropping them to his sides. "The torture of it, knowing that it does not truly exist, that I am not free to walk out into the sunshine among living beings again..." Looking at the plants about them, the vampire shrugged. "There are, naturally, other compensations. There must be a balance, of course."_

_"I don't understand," Van Helsing admitted hesitantly._

_Inelegantly, Dracula snorted, clapping his hands together as though applauding a particularly well- done performance. "Of course not. Forgive me for indulging myself so shamelessly in maudlin regrets. We are not here for that, are we, my friend?"_

_With a confiding, sideways motion, Dracula slid up next to Van Helsing, sliding his arm through the hunter's._

_Van Helsing stiffened, then reluctantly relaxed, resisting the urge to kick the vampire when a smug smile curved over Dracula's mouth and made his dark eyes glitter._

_"Very well, let us answer some of your more pressing questions," Dracula gestured them onwards, through the sunlit paths of the arboretum. "You are here, with me now, because I wished it. When you are awake and journeying, I must resort to less intimate methods of conversing with you. Asleep, you more fully enter the world that spirits dwell in and are therefore more fully in my sway."_

_Van Helsing digested that with an internal shudder. If that were so, that meant that Carl..._

_"Carl?" he asked, halting their meandering walk, his arm twisting within Dracula's to pull him to a stop._

_Dracula shrugged, his gaze directed at Van Helsing through coyly lowered eyelashes. "I would imagine he is having a like conversation with his own 'old friend'."_

_A helpless fury seized Van Helsing, making him shake, a growl within his chest ripped outwards so savagely that Dracula took a step back with widened eyes. It would be so easy to let the beast out–to let it devastate him and everything surrounding them in the fury and rage it felt._

_It was the vampire's fascinated watchful gaze that dragged him back from the precipice and strangled the rage within him._

_Dracula tsked, shaking his head as he raised one pale hand to the sweating face of the man beside him to stroke his cheek._

_Dragging in deep ragged breaths, Van Helsing jerked away, dislodging the hand and its false reassurance._

_"Do not be so sure that it is false," Dracula murmured, raising an eyebrow at Van Helsing's startled expression. "You forget, Gabriel, we are old friends. Your faulty memory does not erase our history together. I know you very well indeed."_

_He wanted to pursue it–wanted to ask about their history, what Dracula knew about him. But not even the answers to the questions that plagued him could erase the fact that Carl was in danger. Once again, he pushed away his need to know in the face of what was more important._

_"Can you take me to Carl?" he asked, hating the pleading note that had entered his voice._

_Dracula shrugged. "I could."_

_"Will you," the hunter grated._

_Dracula seemed to consider the request, his gaze assessing upon Van Helsing's. Then, with a thoughtful air, the pale hand lifted again to touch and stroke Van Helsing's cheek. This time he didn't shake it off._

_"Yes," Dracula nodded, a pleased smile upon his face as he smoothed his thumb over the arch of Van Helsing's cheekbone. "I will take you there. It would be good, I think, for you to see with your own eyes, what happens there."_

_

* * *

He is at a loss. My Carl looks at me and doesn't see a monster..a cambion..but rather the young innocence of a boy who had realized he is in love only to find it isn't returned. As painful as it is to me to see it in his eyes, I still feel a morsel of comfort in the evidence that it's devastating to Carl to realize he is the cause of it. _

_"I wish..." The words leave me before I'm aware of them, before I'm ready to say them. I can only grab at them and stare stupidly at Carl._

_"What? What do you wish?" Carl's prompt is hesitant, but enough to release me._

_"That you could just once...let me love you. Let me kiss you and know that I do love you, Carl. That I don't want to hurt you, don't want to do anything that would make you think less of me."_

_"Paul," He shakes his head so firmly, his fine lips are compressed into a thin disagreeable line. "You know about Gabriel. I couldn't kiss you...pretend to let you love me knowing how Gabriel would feel about it."_

_I hate Van Helsing! With all of my passion and being, with all of my damned soul and all of the rage of my lonely exile, I **HATE **him._

_"Then kiss me and know you do me a kindness!" I'm begging, pleading with the feeling of desperation and pitiful humility. My desperation has a life of its own and it drives my speech while my brain can only whimper in hope. "I don't ask for love, only for mercy. Please, Carl. One kiss. Just once."_

_"Just one?" Carl murmurs. "If I do this, will you stop what you're doing at the See? Stop sending monsters?"_

_My knees are trembling, my body is awash with sweat. I would promise him anything for this kiss and face the reckoning later. Just once, willingly given..._

_"Yes, if you ask it, of course I'll stop."_

_Taking a deep breath, he nods and I feel as if I will burst. "All right. I do ask you to stop the monsters. Now, immediately."_

_"Yes...yes I will," I promise him wildly, thoughtlessly, drawing closer to nuzzle Carl's cheek. "Whatever you wish, Carl. Just kiss me. Kiss me once and know that you're kissing me...not your assistant, not friar Paul. Kiss me."_

_Closer, holding my breath, releasing my dreams, I nuzzle his lips with my own, and Carl sighs and allows the kiss. His sweet mouth parts, and I willingly, prayerfully draw his lower lip into my mouth to suckle wetly at it. So much pain and anguish within me, I feel the tears of it upon my face, flavoring our kiss. And in that moment, he is mine when his heart overflows with remorse for it and he returns the kiss._

* * *

_From out of the hanging clouds of smoke and steam, Van Helsing emerged to see Carl surrender his mouth to Paul and felt the heart within him tear._

_Behind him, Dracula tsked lightly. "Poor Gabriel. Now you understand what it feels like to be murdered."_

tbc


	8. Blood Wars Part 8 REVISED

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
**Series/Sequel: **Sequel to **_Discovery and Disillusion_** and **_Hide and Seek_**

Summary: The dream continues with terrible consequences

_**Notes: Okay, here it is. NEW and IMPROVED **chapter 8. (At least I hope that it's improved . . . ) Also, please check out the **REVISED chapters 6 and 7**. I'm trying something new there with the Paul/Carl dream sequence. If you don't think it works as well as the previous version, please let me know._

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Many many thanks to my reviewers ****Jania, ****Nikoru Sanzo, ****Gnomey**, **Chibi-Kaz, ****Iblis, ****Chaos Dreamer, ****Fluffy Vampire, ****Verona Dracula, ****Trinity the She Devil, ****Luthien, and ****Kuruna Icefire**_. Hearing from you has made writing this story such a pleasure!_

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 8**–REVISED 

_Van Helsing's heart pounded in his chest as the wolf howled to be set free while his back ached and burned as if the bat's wings had unfurled and lifted for flight. For what felt like an eternity he was unable to move, to think, to do more than fight the urge to set the beast within him loose. It would be so easy, so satisfying... He could feel the cold flesh of the vampire lord pressed to his side, the dark watchful eyes waiting._

_It was only by turning the hatred he felt to the inside, against the beast, that he was able to strangle it back enough to hold it captive once again. Then he moved._

_Striding through the clouds of smoke and the stinging fall of sparks that he never felt, Van Helsing approached the forge and silently drew from it a long silver sword. Then like a wolf stalking its prey, he approached the two men and reached for the cambion. He could feel the weave of the sweater and the structure of bone and muscle beneath his fingers as he pulled Paul away. Even over the scent of chemicals he could scent the stink of evil on the man, it hung over him like a black cloud. Thrusting Paul to one side, he raised and swung the sword in his hand. Before him was the blinking disheveled apprentice he had known at the Vatican, but he swung his sword on the cambion, the instigator of hundreds of murders._

_The blade clove through the demon as if passing through water-through his shoulder, breaking the bone, and into his chest cavity. Fountains of black blood gushed forth as the cambion screamed in agony and staggered back._

_Carl, with red swollen lips, watched the man he had kissed writhe and die before him with horror. The black frothing blood that gouted from the cambion's wound swirled about his feet making him want to retch and vomit. He could hear Van Helsing announce the ritual of passing over Paul's body and he looked up at the hunter with bewildered eyes as if seeing him for the first time._

_"It's what we came here to do," Van Helsing reminded Carl, shortly._

_"But he...I talked with him. He was going to stop the killing...I might have brought him around." Carl blinked and licked his lips, frowning at the taste of the former young friar that still lingered on them. When he raised his eyes to Van Helsing, the hunter's expression was grim and closed and when he spoke, it was in a distant, harsh manner._

_"He was a monster. He would have lied to you, promising anything, but he never would have stopped the attacks."_

_"So certain of yourself, Gabriel, so positive that your methods are right, that your cause is just. Another lies murdered at your feet and you feel less than I do."_

_Carl staggered back, slipping slightly in the blood at their feet as he grasped Van Helsing's arm and pulled him away from Dracula. With wide blue eyes and a hanging mouth, he stared with horror at the vampire who greeted his dismay with a mocking bow._

_"The little friar. How nice to see you again." Dracula purred._

_"Enough of that," Van Helsing said. "We've done what we came to do. Send us back to the Village."_

_"Ah," Dracula smiled as he turned away, one tapering white finger rising to his lips as he paced to the side a few steps before looking over his shoulder at them, his smile widening as his hand dropped to gesture downwards. "Are you so sure that you have completed your mission? Be careful death does not catch you unawares."_

_Carl's and Van Helsing's eyes followed the gesturing hand and widened as they saw Paul's body stir, then jerk upright, rising to his feet as if pulled by invisible strings, with the sword still embedded within his chest._

_His clothing was soaked in black blood, as was one side of his face and hair. His eyes were completely white as he turned his head as if to look at them and a smile played about his fouled lips._

_Roughly, Van Helsing thrust Carl behind him, forcing him to back up against the lab table as the hunter retreated as well. The demon before them dropped sightless eyes to his own chest as if realizing for the first time the sword that protruded from it._

_From out of its mouth a sound like a gurgling chortle emerged._

_"This is the best you can do? Better you had sent the witch with her brews and charms, at least she might have given me pause."_

_Reaching across his gaping chest, Paul ripped away the tattered sweater, exposing the horrific sagging wound ranging from his shoulder diagonally downwards. With white fingers, he pulled the damaged shoulder up, slamming it into place. A scream of agony contorted his white face, closing the white eyes briefly._

_Before Carl and Van Helsing's eyes, the flesh and bone of the cambion mended, becoming whole again, leaving only a jagged scarlet line behind to mark the terrible wound and then, that too disappeared._

_Paul's eyes opened and he smiled, almost coyly, as he shrugged._

_"Oops...too bad, hunter."_

_With the smile still upon his lips, Paul pulled the sword from his own chest, letting the metal ring over his ribs and breast bone. Once free, he held it up, showing his blood still hot, sliding down the white metal._

_"Now, my turn," he crooned, tilting his head to one side to smile coyly at them before thrusting forward, ramming the blade neatly into its new sheathe._

_Carl gasped, turning his head away as Van Helsing's blood hit him in the face when the long blade entered his throat and emerged from the back of his neck, through his hair, like an obscene metal snake._

_"Oh my God," the friar whispered before lunging forward to catch the hunter as he fell silently backwards, taking them both to the floor. "Gabriel?" Carl choked as the hunter's body lay upon him heavy and lifeless. "Gabriel?"_

_Steeling himself, Carl seized the sword and pulled it out, swallowing heavily against the bile rising in his own throat. When the blade came free, he dropped it, and placed his hands over the gaping wound. Wrapping his hands over the slick hole, feeling the hot blood that poured through his fingers, Carl looked up at the vampire and the cambion with incredulous desperation._

_"Do something! He's dying!"_

_Paul's pale lips made a small moue of false pity as he shrugged his shoulders and turned away to fuss with some items on the workbench._

_Dracula watched the cambion with amusement, a small secretive smile on his face, before he turned back to the two men on the bloody floor._

_"Yes, he is dying. What would you have me do? Are you asking me to give him life...the sort of life only I can offer?" the vampire murmured as he approached and crouched down to balance effortlessly on the balls of his feet._

_Carl's mouth opened and closed as he looked into the depths of Dracula's eyes and found himself surprised to realize that they were blue._

_"I..no...he would never..."_

_"Then he will die," Dracula shrugged, a gentle, almost pitying smile upon his face._

_"Is that all you think about, dying and killing?" Carl demanded, his voice rising in anger._

_"Well...I **am** a vampire," Dracula reminded the friar. "Unlike you, we do not spend a great deal of time being concerned with beneficence. Still..."_

_Carl shivered under the vampire lord's gaze. If Dracula chose to make Van Helsing a vampire, how could he stop him? Would he stop him?_

_Then the Count was moving, sliding his cold arms beneath Carl's, easily lifting the hunter's body from Carl as he stood up. Carl scrambled to his feet, catching the Count's sleeve._

_"Wait, what are you doing?"_

_"Saving his life, as you asked. I will take him back to my castle."_

_"Your castle!"_

_"You would prefer he remain here? To die?"_

_"No! Your castle...all right. I'm coming with you."_

_"Really?" Dracula looked up from under his eyelashes at Paul, still affecting disinterest as he fiddled with items on Carl's workbench. "Are you certain that you wish to leave?"_

_"Yes," Carl said firmly. "Take us to your castle."_

_The vampire inclined his head, the smile upon his lips never failing. "As you wish," he murmured._

_Keeping firm hold of Dracula's sleeve, Carl followed the vampire into the smoke and sparks and disappeared from sight._

_

* * *

It was dark and luxuriously soft and warm where he was. His body no longer ached and he found a curious peace within himself that he'd never known in all the time that he had lived. And he had lived a very long time. He was certain of that now. He wanted to savor the warmth and pleasure, to loll shamelessly in it and be thankful for it. But there were things that still needed to be done and their presence within his mind wouldn't allow him to simply give in. He wasn't accustomed to feeling guilt over things left undone. He had enough guilt in his life without adding more. _

_With reluctance, Van Helsing stirred and forced himself to emerge from warm sleep. He lay naked upon an enormous feather bed, sunk deep within the warm down, and covered with an embroidered white duvet stuffed with more down. It was the most richly decadent experience he ever remembered having and it occurred to him that it was little wonder the rich always seemed so smug if they came home to this sort of thing every night._

_Without moving, he allowed his eyes to roam about the room. He noticed immediately that Carl wasn't with him. With that thought came the sharp pain of memory, seeing Carl kiss Paul. The memory hurt him, making his skin flush and his eyes sting. He blinked away the moisture, closing his eyes against the image that seemed burned into his mind. It appeared that he was doomed to see the ones he loved be taken from him._

_Opening his eyes, he looked about the room again, now fervently seeking distraction from his thoughts. It was a fine, elaborately decorated bedroom filled with richness and comfort. He'd never seen such a room before, much less spent time in one. Why was he here now?_

_Stirring in his down nest, Van Helsing started to push himself up only to discover that he couldn't. He was as weak as a kitten, and his throat immediately began to ache so viciously that he writhed with the pain of it._

_More complete memories of the forge returned with a vengeance, confusing him. He remembered killing Paul and the horror of discovering that the cambion could not be killed. Then feeling the sword being thrust into his throat and knowing that he would die. It was a bitter memory, primarily because it meant that he would leave Carl alone in Hell, with Dracula on one side and the cambion on the other._

_Pushing the pain away from him, he restlessly surveilled the room again. He was in Valerious Castle. **Dracula's** castle. His hands rose immediately to his throat and felt heavy bandages about it. Tearing at them and ignoring the blood flow that started anew, he pushed aside the linen coverings to feel his throat carefully. No bite marks, but given his wound they were hardly necessary._

_Awkwardly, he refastened the bandages, if only to keep the sluggishly flowing blood from soaking the pillows and bed. The idea of lying in a blood-drenched bed within a vampire's castle didn't sit well with him._

_The massive door of the chamber opening brought his attention to it to see Carl enter with a subdued expression and a heavily laden tray. The friar met Van Helsing's eyes with a mixture of relief and apprehension. Gingerly, awkwardly balancing the tray, he closed the door behind him firmly, then approached the bed, sliding the tray onto a gleaming bedside table._

_"You're awake," Carl murmured, his eyes still upon the table. "I wasn't sure if you would be, though he said you were."_

_Van Helsing's dark brows dropped into a frown. '**He'** must be Dracula. Carl spending time with Dracula? It seemed that things could get stranger, and more dangerous. He opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing would emerge outside of a hoarse grating noise that set his throat on fire._

_Carl immediately poured hot wine into a golden goblet, sliding up onto the bed to bring it to Van Helsing's lips._

_"I know that it hurts. Don't try to move or speak. He had to save your life–you were dying..."_

_Van Helsing thrust aside the goblet to catch Carl's arm, his dark gaze piercing the friar as his free hand once again touched his throat and the heavy bandages._

_Carl swallowed, shaking his head. "He didn't bite you...he didn't have to..."_

_Van Helsing's mouth contorted with the unvoiced word "No" as he closed his eyes against the room, against Carl. No, the vampire lord wouldn't have to bite him, not with a perfectly serviceable wound already spilling his life's blood._

_Carl set aside the goblet, clumsily, almost spilling it, before he turned back to Van Helsing._

_"Gabriel, he had to feed you...some of his blood. It was the only way to save you. I...I don't think that will make you a vampire..."_

_The hunter's hazel eyes flew open to fix Carl with a dark gaze that held no love, no tenderness, not even recognition. It was a look Carl had seen many times before upon the hunter's face, always when he faced an adversary._

_The friar squared his shoulders, frowning. He'd done what had to be done, and he'd taken all the precautions possible. He was bedamned if he was going to allow Van Helsing to second guess and find him wanting now._

_"Don't look at me that way. I would never allow him to turn you into a vampire. I made an educated decision, based on the facts. You took his blood before, remember, in the antidote. You've manifested vampiric abilities along with lycanthropy. You're not exactly lily pure, Gabriel, and whether you admit it or not, it did save your life!"_

_The last was shouted, with all of the rage and heat of his previous worry and despair. Whirling on the bed, Carl snatched at his robes, searching them roughly before finally pulling a simple wooden crucifix from one of his voluminous pockets to thrust it at Van Helsing._

_"Here. It doesn't make you recoil or feel pain, does it?"_

_With the cross firmly held before him, Van Helsing looked past it, to Carl's face. The friar was deathly pale and sweating. He had dark circles under his eyes that were red from tears and sleeplessness. His robe, what was visible, was torn and badly stained with blood. Knowing the richness of this castle, surely he could have found other clothing to replace the robe._

_It was seeing the friar, still stubbornly in his robes, that made Van Helsing blink, then reach out to touch the cross, taking it in his hand. There was heat, the wood of the cross was hot within his grasp, but it didn't catch on fire, nor did it burn him. It appeared that he was only moderately damned, enough for a warning, but not actual expulsion from Christ's blessings._

_A sigh gusted from him that he hadn't been aware of holding, and he felt renewed gratitude in the simple act of breathing._

_"You see? You're not exactly Hell-spawn yet. He fed you only enough to save your life...I made sure of it."_

_Van Helsing's gaze returned to the friar and Carl was grateful to see curiosity in it as well as the barest trace of unconscious humor._

_"Yes, well...I suppose my presence wasn't **much** of a deterrent...still, apparently it was enough. Gabriel, I don't know why he spared your life or why he hasn't fancied a late night snack of friar yet, either. I don't know what he's thinking, but he does have a reason, I can see it. With his blood...you..might be able to understand him better than any of the rest of us now."_

_Carl had hated to bring that up, with the signs of Van Helsing's grudging forgiveness only barely manifesting. He held his breath as he watched the hunter's eyes drop and his lips thin with distaste. But the hunter was thinking, guardedly opening himself to feelings within that might provide a clue. Whatever he found, he apparently didn't care for, judging by his abruptly slamming his eyes shut and his fist closing on the cross until his knuckles turned white._

_Seeing the color abruptly drain from the hunter's face, Carl seized his shoulders, gripping them hard as he shook them._

_"Gabriel, let it go! Open your eyes!"_

_The hazel eyes flew open to fix on Carl's as if they were a lifeline._

_"All right...that's better," Carl spoke carefully, as he now stroked the bare shoulders beneath his hands. "Evidently that wasn't our best idea."_

_A fervent '**No'** was mouthed at him, and the friar snorted. "Yes, well I know that now."_

_Releasing Van Helsing, the friar turned away only to have his arm seized and held fast. He felt the small strength of the long fingers digging into his flesh and thanked God for it as he turned back and smiled whole-heartedly at the other man._

_"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. I have some hot wine...well...probably luke-warm now. It'll make your throat feel better."_

_A small flush touched the hunter's cheeks as he released Carl's arm that the friar found quite endearing. He didn't recall ever seeing Van Helsing blush before...of course, there wasn't a great deal of call for blushing while monster hunting._

_Picking up the goblet, he felt the sides of the metal cup and was pleased that it retained its heat. Carefully he brought the rim to Van Helsing's mouth and tipped a small amount past the open lips, resisting the urge to make those cooing sounds that the hunter always accused him of. Truth be told, Carl was not a natural caregiver. He had very little stomach for the sick room and less for pampering others. Still somehow, taking care of Van Helsing, he always found himself going overboard and trying to mother hen the hunter. It was embarrassing._

_Van Helsing frowned as he drank the wine, but he also licked his lips when the cup was pulled away, so Carl took that as a positive and pressed the rim to his mouth once more._

_"There...a little bit more...careful..careful..**mmmm**...oops!"_

_Fisting his own sleeve, Carl used it to gently dab at a trickle of wine that coursed down Van Helsing's cheek before meeting the hunter's eyes again._

_"Got it. Wouldn't want to soak your bandages with wine. Not very hygienic, not to mention a waste of perfectly good spirits!"_

_A definite chuff of breath brushed over Carl's fingers as he blotted Van Helsing's lips, and he chuckled himself. It struck him then, that they were laughing over a silly mishap while their predicament still remained quite grave._

_Evidently, the thought had also occurred to Van Helsing, because he pushed away the cup with a wry grimace and rolled his eyes at the room before returning his gaze to Carl's._

_"Yes, I was just thinking that as well," Carl admitted as he set the goblet back on the bedside table. "We're well out of the frying pan now, aren't we."_

TBC


	9. Blood Wars Part 9

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

Summary: Limbo-Dream Sequence concluded

**Notes: The rest of the original Chapter 8 is here along with some new writing. Mavis comes into her own and the first step of Dracula's plan is taken. I'm relatively pleased with the changes I've made; I hope that you are as well. **

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are  
merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness,  
deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Verona Dracula, ****Iblis, ****Luthien, ****Gnomey, ****Mithril Maiden, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Trinity the She Devil, ****Curious Dream Weaver, ****Nikoru Sanzo**_  
**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**Blood Wars 9**

Mavis opened her eyes with a huff of anger. It appeared that the hunter and his friar were in trouble, a fact that hardly surprised her. How had they lasted this long without one or the other being killed? Stubborn, pig-headed, quixotic, little boys throwing stones at giants while standing in their shadows.

Pushing back from the bed she had been kneeling beside, the witch rose to glare at the two unconscious men it contained. She had been watching for just such a thing, but the events of the dream world had happened too quickly for her to circumvent them. Now, she could only work to pull them from their dream as gently as possible. It would take time, she couldn't rush it, couldn't simply yank them back into reality. The hunter had almost been killed and he had wounds that made him weak and vulnerable. And Carl, while physically strong, was psychically reeling from the cambion's death and resurrection and then Van Helsing's near death. They had reacted to the dreamscape badly, trying to bull their way through it on muscles and bravado and had nearly pulled Hell's damnation down on top of them.

Mavis snorted as she turned and left the room.

They were men...what else could one expect from them?

* * *

_Van Helsing chafed at his inability to move, to do more than merely watch Carl as he explored the room, looking at the books that lined one entire wall of the chamber. He wanted to speak with the friar, to ask him why... _

_The memory of the kiss still tormented him. Why had Carl done it? And later, he'd argued for Paul's life. Did he feel pity for the cambion? Was he attracted to the demon?_

_The hunter's eyes dropped as he considered his thoughts. Was he any better than Paul? He couldn't fool himself that he was human any longer, not with Dracula's blood in his veins, sustaining his life._

_As if sensing the turmoil behind him, Carl turned to look at the hunter, to study his down-turned face. There was a wall between them now. True, there was still love as well, but it was held at bay, relegated to a safe place while they faced one another more as strangers than lovers. He wanted to talk with Gabriel, to answer his questions and explain what had happened. It hurt him every time he looked into his lover's eyes and saw the distance in them._

_"Gabriel?" Carl began, then stopped as the door to the chamber opened to allow Dracula access to the room._

_Immediately, Carl moved to place himself between the hunter and the vampire lord. He could hear Van Helsing move in the bed behind him, heard the sounds of pain he made as he forced himself to sit upright._

_Dracula watched them both with a sardonic smile, his hands held steepled before him. "As you see, he is awake," the vampire murmured to Carl. "I trust you are comfortable here?"_

_"We would be more comfortable back with our friends," Carl said. His eyes warily followed the vampire as he paced to the side to swipe a critical finger over a table top, tsking as he wiped imaginary dust from his fingertips._

_"Yes, I am certain they, too, miss you both. Still, while you must remain here, this is not such a bad place to be, no?"_

_Dracula looked up, past Carl, to fix his eyes on Van Helsing. "And you, my friend, we have still to discuss old times. Perhaps now, with my blood fresh within your veins, you will be more inclined to listen and less inclined to judge."_

_Van Helsing's involuntary shudder of revulsion made the vampire smile again._

_Almost negligently, the Count paced back toward Carl, one finger at his lower lip as if a thought had occurred to him._

_"Of course...perhaps our talk should wait. You and your little friar must have a great deal to discuss. So many bad memories...so much pain between you. How it must tear at you to remember how easily he gave himself to another."_

_"Stop it!" Carl cried, as his eyes flew between the hunter and the vampire. "It wasn't like that!"_

_"No, no, of course not," Dracula chuckled. "It has been a long while since I spent time among the living, but I am able to recognize a kiss of passion as well as the next man. The cambion feels passion for you, little friar. Did you think to sway him with your kisses? To share your love between the demon and his hunter? You do not know Gabriel as well as I, if you think he would settle for sharing his bed with your demon lover."_

_Van Helsing's eyes slammed shut against the pain in his body and his heart. Every word the vampire said thrust the memory deeper into his mind, scratching and clawing its way into his very soul._

_"But then...you have already shown that you enjoy the company of demons by sharing your bed with Gabriel. Perhaps he understands your insatiable need for more?"_

_Rage and bitter humiliation drove Carl forward, his hands diving for the vampire's throat to shut him up, to stop the lies and the more painful half-truths from emerging to hurt them any more than they had already been._

_Dracula easily caught the friar's wrists and bent his arms behind him. Leaning over the struggling man, he purred as he looked into Carl's face. "Mmmm, perhaps you have not yet been sated, little friar, that you require more of the taste of darkness?" Easily, Dracula captured Carl's mouth in a wet passionate sucking kiss._

_"**Nmmph**," Carl moaned, struggling to free his arms, to turn his head away from the cold lips that possessed his own._

_Van Helsing shoved out of the bed and threw himself at Dracula, seizing the vampire's arm while thrusting his own between the two bodes to pry Carl free. The friar fell to the ground as Dracula whirled on the hunter, seizing his throat._

_"Did you learn **nothing** from your brush with death?" the Count snarled as he lifted the hunter from his feet. "I saved your life and foolishly you place it once more into my hands to take." The pale hand about Van Helsing's throat tightened crushingly as the wound reopened to pour blood down over his chest and Dracula's hand. "Very well, then, I will take it."_

_Violently, Dracula slammed the hunter down to the floor, onto his knees. With one hand still grasping the hunter's throat, the other tore off the bandages to bare his bloody wound. Eagerly, Dracula leaned over and fastened his lips to it, drinking greedily._

_Van Helsing's shuddered as his body rapidly grew cold and weak. He could hear a rushing noise that drowned out the sounds of Dracula's feeding. Bright lights bloomed and burst into stars before his eyes, blinding him, drawing him inwards... _

* * *

Van Helsing abruptly coughed, then choked, his hands flying to his throat as he rolled off the bed and onto the dirt floor of their room in the Village of Pagans. Retching and gasping for air, he knelt in the dirt, shuddering he closed his eyes, willing the agony of death to fade. 

Another sound from the bed announced Carl had awoken. He followed the sound of Carl's knees hitting the ground beside him and then felt the long clever fingers prying his own up to inspect his throat. He submitted to the friar's examination, keeping his eyes closed as he drew in thankful breaths of life-giving air.

"There are deep bruises, but there doesn't appear to be any signs of a wound or bite marks. Don't help me–I'm going to move your head to make sure."

Gentle fingers moved into his hair and at the juncture of his jaw, rasping over his stubbled skin, and he gritted his teeth as his muscles protested the slow forward and backward, then side-to-side motion Carl eased him through.

"Thank God, I don't see any signs of permanent damage." Carl's voice was a quiet sober murmur, almost within Van Helsing's ear. The hunter could smell the soap and water scent on other man's warm skin, felt his own skin warm as Carl's breath wafted over it when he shifted and leaned closer. "Can you speak now?"

Swallowing hard, Van Helsing could feel his throat move under Carl's palm. Licking his cracked lips, he was aware that he no longer tasted the wine he had drunk nor the blood of the vampire lord. It had all been a dream–but Carl said there were bruises. Had he done that himself?

Opening his eyes was difficult, they felt heavy like lead and gummy with sweat and tears. He didn't allow himself to speculate on the cause of the tears as he looked into Carl's anxious face and saw the tracks of like tears upon the friar's pale skin.

"Gabriel? Can you speak?"

It had all been a dream?

"Carl?" Van Helsing's voice was a grating hoarse groan that made him cough and wheeze. Carl shifted to settle on one hip, pulling the hunter to him across his chest in a strong hug.

"Don't try to speak. With everything that's happened, it's no wonder that you can't. It doesn't sound like it's much more than a really bad case of laryngitis. Just let it heal on its own..."

Against his neck, the friar felt the feathery sweep of Van Helsing's eyelashes and the warmth of his breath. After a moment, Van Helsing's arms rose to return his embrace and the friar released a prayer of thanks to God. They held one another for a long time, their bodies warming as the rapid pulses of their hearts beat against one another, slowly slowing down from their former frantic pace.

Without conscious thought, Van Helsing and Carl stroked one another; soothing hands ran up and down the warm muscular backs while they buried their faces in the soft strands of long hair that curled about their necks.

Then Van Helsing stirred against him, pushing back. His head was lowered and Carl rubbed his face in the cool brown hair as it slid against his cheek and jaw. When the hunter's face came up to his own, Carl pushed back the heavy locks that obscured his face and pressed his lips to Van Helsing's cheeks, nose and eyelids, nuzzling into the heat he knew so well. Van Helsing allowed it, but didn't return the caresses, a fact that gradually impinged on Carl's awareness enough to cause him to draw back to meet the sad thoughtful gaze of the hunter.

"Gabriel...?"

Van Helsing chafed at the strictures placed on him by his inability to speak. His initial fear for Carl had melted away with the reassurance that the friar was unharmed. Now he needed to talk with Carl, to ask questions, to rant and rave and shout out the anger and pain he had felt. His love was assuaged, now his anger was surfacing. He and Carl weren't children–what he had seen and the pain he'd felt was real. Carl had kissed Paul, had defended him to Van Helsing. Then the friar had allowed Dracula to... He needed Carl's side of the story, all of it. As it was, for now with the limitations of speechlessness, he needed distance or he wasn't sure what he'd do. The urge to hurt Carl as much as he himself had been hurt was so strong, he wasn't sure that he could avoid acting on it without meaning to. He wasn't proud of the anger he felt, but neither could he rationalize it away.

Shaking his head, the hunter pushed away again to rise unsteadily to his feet. Carl rose as well; his helping hand on the hunter's arm was roughly shaken off.

"Gabriel, let me help you. You can hardly stand...eeep!"

Snarling, Van Helsing had whirled on the friar, his hand closing on Carl's throat so tightly he heard the breath wheeze within it. For an instant, his eyes blazed green as the bat and the wolf gained ascendancy and his humanity faltered.

Carl stared with open-mouthed horror at the beast that snarled at him with white teeth bared. Hot breath gusted over Carl's skin as Van Helsing leaned into him, pressing his face to Carl's to draw in long deep breaths, scenting his skin while growling over him.

Then Van Helsing was pulling away, the glaring unnatural color fading to be replaced by the hazel eyes he knew. The hunter didn't release him; instead, his free hand rose to scrub his calloused thumb roughly over Carl's mouth, as though wiping off the last traces of a doxy's lipstick.

Abruptly, his hands were gone and Carl fell sprawling onto the bed, clutching his throat, wheezing, as he watched Van Helsing turn away and begin to get dressed.

"Gabriel," Carl rasped, and cleared his throat.

Van Helsing turned briefly to look at him–just a look–the expression in the hazel eyes was a warning. Carl wasn't sure if he was being cautioned to silence or distance. Since the result of disobeying either request wasn't likely to be in his or Van Helsing's best interests, he fell silent and let the hunter finish dressing. Obviously, he had some explaining to do, and he fully intended to make his friend aware of all the facts. In addition to that, he had a bone to pick with the hunter. What he'd attempted had been foolhardy and rash. Not once but twice he'd endangered his life to pull Carl out of danger's way. They had no idea what Paul was capable of and the cambion had almost killed him. Then Van Helsing did it again; when he could barely stand, he'd taken on Dracula barehanded. It was as if the man had a death-wish. Van Helsing was almost finished dressing with rough jerking motions that signaled a violent temper held only nominally in check.

The long leather coat and then the hat, pulled down low, were the last to be put on. Gathering his weapons, Van Helsing strode from the room, closing the door behind him without a sound.

Carl blinked as he looked over the little room and the rumpled bed. Not a sign of Van Helsing had been left behind, not even those things that he could have left in their room if he had meant to return to it.

Another silent prayer made its way to God from the friar's heart; he prayed that Van Helsing would listen to his explanation and then acknowledge the suicidal rage that drove the hunter.

* * *

_Mavis looked about at her surroundings with an unflattering air of disdain. The hunter and his friar were safe once more. Now she would finish her business here and leave. _

_The stone beneath her feet made her footsteps loud within the oddly still lab. She regretted that, but it couldn't be helped. As it was, it was hardly likely that her presence had gone unnoticed in any case. The cambion would be here, waiting. She would have come sooner, she would have stopped Dracula from taking the two men to his castle if she could have, but the cambion had clouded his actions from her too well._

_"You came. I wondered if you would."_

_Mavis peered through the smoke, waving irritably at it. She could see Paul, still standing by the workbench, touching and caressing the things scattered over it. Her lips thinned as she watched, certain that he did it to annoy her._

_"Did you truly think I wouldn't?" she snapped, her anger like a whip in the close air between them. "You were not a stupid boy that I recall. Has your brain addled since?"_

_"Addled?" Paul choked on a mirthless laugh. "Are you asking if I'm sane?"_

"_**Nein**_. _I know that you are not," Mavis answered shortly. She gestured at the still lab with distaste. "You hug this place and your sad dreams to yourself like a child. It is time and past to stop indulging yourself."_

_Paul snarled at the woman, his brown eyes abruptly blazing red. "You cannot tell me what to do. Not any longer! I have a chance at love, and I mean to have it!"_

_"Love!" the witch scoffed, throwing up her hands. "You may fool the friar into believing you are not a monster, but he will never love you. His heart is already given."_

_"Monster!" Paul snorted as he leaned over the workbench to fix the witch with a petulant glare. "How rich it is to hear you say that."_

_Mavis' lips disappeared into a thin line as she looked at the man before her. "Who better to say it than your mother?" she demanded._

_"MY MOTHER is dead!" Paul screamed, throwing himself around the bench to stride toward the witch._

_Mavis watched him approach, seeing the red gleam of the demon in his eyes and the foam of madness on his lips. He bore no resemblance to the little tow head she had given birth to so long ago, but he was still her son._

"_**Nein**_! _You wish I were dead but it is not so. True, I recanted before the Inquisition's torture and I will pay for it every day for eternity. But it kept us alive."_

_"Alive? They took me from you and put me into that monastery. Do you know what happened to me there? What they did to the child of a witch and a demon?"_

_Mavis' dark brows knitted as she watched the first tears spill down the cambion's face. She wanted to hug him, to take his pain to herself. But it would do no good; the darkness within him was all too clear–very little remained of the little boy within the man that faced her now._

_"Stephan," she began, only to be cut short as the man seized her arms and leaned down to spit into her face._

_"Paul! They named me Paul when they burned my past life out of me. Stephan died the first night he was forced to join the abbot in his bed. Your son is dead and there is only Paul now."_

_"Ahh," Mavis sighed and blinked back the sting of tears. "Ja, I can see that. Paul then...let go of the friar. You have much pain. He will not ease it for you. There is still time to take a different road. Leave the hunter and friar, leave this place and find a new life elsewhere."_

_Paul straightened, thrusting Mavis from him. "I will leave when Van Helsing is dead. **Dead**_! _I came to this place for revenge. He cannot beat me so long as he is human and if he takes the beast's shape then he will be taken by Hell. I cannot lose. When he is dead, Carl will turn to me."_

_"It will not happen that way," the witch assured him grimly. "You will die, here in Hell, and be consumed by it."_

_"Rather that than one minute more with things as they are," Paul answered grimly. "Now leave. And don't come back, witch. You're no match for me and I won't feel a moment's remorse when I snap you like a dry branch."_

_The witch sighed, then lifted her head determinedly. "Very well. I have what I came for; there is no need to remain."_

_Without a backward glance, Mavis turned and walked into the smoke of the forges and disappeared from sight._

* * *

Carl smoothed down his robe as he exited the house and looked about for Van Helsing. It occurred to him that he had spent quite a lot of time lately doing just that—looking for Van Helsing. Lately he was always waiting for the man to come back from a mission, or to come down off the roof, or to simply realize that they were partners. Oh, certainly, being looked after had its advantages—it was quite flattering actually. But not as a staple diet. The fight with Paul was a case in point. One kiss, damnit. That was all. And without tongue—an important distinction. And for one kiss, the monsters would stop attacking the See. Of course, Paul could be lying, but wasn't it worth the try? It wasn't as if Van Helsing had found them naked in a bed. 

Of course, the hunter _had told_ Carl that he was inclined to be jealous. Evidently jealously precluded thinking as evidenced by his subsequent fight with Dracula, which was a habit that was hardly likely to prolong Van Helsing's life. Another fact which Carl planned to make abundantly clear.

Trotting down the street, he peered down side paths and into open doorways without shame. When Van Helsing wanted to disappear, he was very good at it—a trait that was beginning to annoy Carl to no end.

When the friar reached the point where shouting for the hunter at the top of his lungs was looking like a very good idea, he spotted his quarry. Van Helsing and Mavis were sitting on the wall of a well and appeared to be holding a conversation.

Conversation?

Eyebrows raised and ears wagging, Carl approached with curiosity rampant. Mavis looked up at the friar, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a huff that made Carl immediately want to apologize. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for but it was obviously expected...

"Er...sorry?" He smiled propitiatingly at the witch and received a grudging head toss. Carefully and very quietly, he sat on the other side of the witch and waited. Not for long, as it turned out.

"So, you couldn't wait to get into trouble, the pair of you! Did I not tell you that your relationship would be tested? With the children I expect to repeat myself—two grown big men such as you should be able to hold a simple thought for longer than this."

"Er...well...actually..." Carl began, but quickly quailed under Mavis' baleful eye. Van Helsing's mouth was compressed into the same thin line that Carl often saw when he stood on the carpet before Jinette. It helped Carl, a little, to know that if he was going to get a dressing down, he wasn't going to be the only one.

"Very well," Mavis spoke slowly and clearly, obviously feeling she needed to take extra care to make herself understood to the two silly men facing her. "Your dreams in this place make you vulnerable. It is as much my fault that this happened; I did not think that they would act so soon. Here...to each of you goes a charm that will protect you. Your enemies will be able to overcome it in time, but it should serve to protect you for now, at least enough to prevent injury and death."

"Death?" Carl squeaked. "How can one die from a dream? Isn't that impossible?"

"Why impossible? You breathe and your heart beats when you sleep, ja? Why shouldn't it be able to stop as easily asleep as when you are awake? Something happens to the body, it dies. Your dream self faces mortal injury, your brain and body believe it absolutely, you die. What is so difficult about that?"

"Oh...well...if you put it that way."

With a sigh, the witch shook her head and patted the friar. "I'm sorry. These things the children know, but you have never been taught. Simply know that when you sleep, your spirit roams. It maintains an awareness of your body, but it lives a life of its own apart from the body in sleep. Where you are now, the realm of the spirit, surrounded by spirits, you are vulnerable. Add to that the enmity of two beings that are very powerful and skilled at such attacks and your danger increases. I cannot prevent them from reaching you, only from harming you. All right?"

"All right," Carl nodded even though he really didn't understand at all. He suspected the Cardinal would have **WORDS** to say about such ideas and made a vow not to bring the subject up to him. Ever. He glanced down at the talisman she pressed into his hand. It was a simple amulet of wood entwined with some greenery, strung on a bit of leather; it didn't look spectacular or powerful or even mystical. Still...better safe than sorry.

He noted Van Helsing slipping the amulet over his head and followed suit with his own. Mavis' ire appeared to be mollified by their meek obedience because her tone became less harsh and more coaxing.

"Now, you have only to make up. You, Mr. Left Hand of God, would do well to curb your anger and jealousy. You will not defeat the cambion by physical means. If you truly love Carl, then talk with him. Find out his reasons for what he does. He is not a flirt, and he will have reasons. As for your need to protect him at the cost of your own life-I cannot speak to that, though I would dearly love to. He will have to deal with that when the time comes." Van Helsing's eyes rose to Carl's, his dark brows contracting slightly in a thoughtful frown before his gaze dropped.

Turning to Carl, Mavis caught the friar's chin between two boney fingers and shook it. "And you! Silly, foolish, wishful! The devil has the power to form pleasing shapes, ja?"

"Ja...I mean, yes," Carl whispered.

"You think he's the only liar in Hell? You think this cambion, this demon who calls himself 'Paul' will sell his dominion over the Order for a kiss? Better to offer him your soul—then at least he'd only lie with half his mouth. You cannot turn him. You cannot reason with him. You cannot save him. Your chances are better to convert the devil than this cambion. Understood?"

"Oh...I...alright." Carl blushed furiously as he mentally kicked himself for his eager gullibility. Maybe he _did_ need Gabriel to watch over him. Certainly Gabriel wouldn't have fallen for Paul's blandishments."

Sneaking a look up at the hunter, Carl grimaced as the hunter met his eyes. With a sigh, the friar shrugged. "I thought...if I could just stop the attacks...maybe the deaths would stop. It seemed like a good idea, at the time. It was just supposed to be one kiss...no tongue of course."

He saw the briefest flicker of amusement in Van Helsing's eyes and drew reassurance from it. Mavis patted him again and stood.

"I have other things to do. Keep the amulets next to your skin and no more foolishness!"

With that parting bit of scathing wisdom, the witch clucked her tongue and walked away, the heels of her black shoes raising little clouds of dust in her wake.

"Well...the Cardinal could take a lesson from her," Carl murmured, and darted another look at the hunter through his lashes. He was disappointed to see the hunter didn't look up at him. "Gabriel...," he began, then bit his lip as the hunter stood, shook his head, and walked away.

* * *

Van Helsing took another room, as expected. In the small house, it was easy to find but it took time for Carl to build up his courage to go to it, after the hunter had retired. Neither man had any rest to speak of thus far—their dream adventures had left them more tired than before. When Carl stood in their old room with the large bed, eyeing the rumpled sheets, he found his ire and courage rising. Without a backward glance, he left his fears and the room behind in search of Van Helsing. 

When he found the hunter's tiny room, he was surprised at how dark it was. It seemed so odd in this village where night never came. Then he mentally kicked himself-of course, the room Gabriel had selected for himself was dark–the hunter within the man had chosen a room with no window, no outlet that might be exploited while he slept alone, defenseless.

It felt odd to imagine Gabriel sleeping alone. It shouldn't, he had been doing it for far longer than he and Carl had been together, but Carl had no knowledge of that time. He hadn't shared it, hadn't lived it with Van Helsing. He only knew of the times they had shared together, when first they were friends, and then lovers. They had always slept close together-he remembered that now, as an odd disjointed slice of trivia. Even as friends, they'd made their bedrolls side by side, to share their body heat, to share closeness and companionship. Gabriel was lonely and Carl was unsure of himself, it had suited their needs. It had made sense.

Now, within his reflections, it occurred to Carl that their move into being lovers had been too fast. It had taken forever to arrive and seconds to establish. Really, it had been much too fast–uncharacteristically so. Van Helsing was reeling from the betrayal of the church that he had served; he had felt used and cheated. It didn't take much imagination to realize that. Certainly, he had handled it well; he always handled his assignments well. The humbling of the Vatican was just another assignment to his mind.

But Carl didn't imagine that the hunter had been prepared for his friend to fill the sudden void left by the church. Maybe that's why he had slipped in so easily? Because Van Helsing needed to take care of others, required himself to be needed and Carl's fumbling attempt at intimacy had happened at just the right time under just the right circumstances.

Now, Van Helsing was cut adrift again. Who would he turn to this time? Who would he protect and cherish? Who would complete Gabriel and allow him to change from the hunter into the protector his nature craved to be?

Carl was certain there were many who might wish the opportunity, and there were many who deserved Gabriel's loyal heart and fierce devotion. Certainly Jinette would be delighted if Gabriel returned wholeheartedly to the Church. There was Dracula, with his assurances of a shared past. _Nooo_, best not to go there.

Then Gretchen–it was no secret that she loved Gabriel. He would protect and worship her if she stepped into the void. If Carl let her. Was he denying the man on the bed the opportunity to live a normal life? Neither of them had ever shared intimacies with another man before. It still felt odd to Carl, making him squirm with guilty pleasure and then embarrassment over that pleasure. It must have been chance and proximity that had brought them together, really.

Really? Somehow that didn't seem true, if he were being perfectly honest and since there was only himself to lie to, why not be honest? Neither man had any allegiance to a family. True, in his life before the Church, Carl had been part of a large and influential family. With his decision to enter a monastic life, however, he had found himself estranged. They had no understanding of what he did with his life, seeing a day spent in prayer and service as a wasted day. His father had gone so far as to exert his influence to ensure his son was accepted at the Vatican. After that, he'd washed his hands of the matter. Carl had no doubt that, if he chose to give up the religious life, he would once again be admitted into the loving embrace of his rather pedestrian family and be quickly absorbed into the family business of shipping livestock. The very thought was enough to make him nauseous.

Gabriel was even less fortunate. He was a man who craved closeness with no one to be close to—there was no family waiting for him, not even the memory of one. He was vulnerable now, in the aftermath of their schism. It was sadly ironic how really defenseless Gabriel actually was in this dark windowless room where he tried to hide his heart.

Carl moved closer to the bed, to the sleeping man, and determined that he would fill that heart. Gabriel might not trust him, might detest Carl's seeming abandonment of him, but Carl knew that he, most of all, belonged in that portion of Gabriel's mind and heart that he reserved for things he loved. It would fit Carl like a glove, because it was made for him.

Slipping off his robe, Carl slid into the narrow bed and against Gabriel's hot skin, molding himself to it with a soul-satisfying groan of pleasure.

He felt Gabriel come awake immediately, tensing against him. He didn't see it, but he knew the hunter's eyes would be opening, unblinking in the dim candlelight, orienting himself almost instantaneously as he ruthlessly forced his body to full battle readiness. There was a battle ahead, but not the kind Gabriel imagined.

Firmly, Carl levered himself over Van Helsing's chest and pressed his mouth to the soft lips of the hunter. He felt Van Helsing's grunt of surprise within his own mouth and used it to press his tongue inside the hunter's mouth, touching Van Helsing's tongue with his own, twining with it.

Now he felt the rumble of a stifled growl. He'd been prepared for that and settled himself more firmly over Van Helsing, wrapping one arm about his ribs, while the other hand slid beneath his head to bury itself in the cool thick brown hair.

Settled firmly, Carl pressed once again against Van Helsing's mouth. He could feel the frown on those lips and the tenseness in the body beneath his. It wasn't flattering, but then Carl wasn't there to be flattered.

Beneath him, he felt the hunter squirm–whether from a rigorously suppressed pleasure or from irritation Carl didn't know. Van Helsing was a powerful man, if he truly wanted Carl gone, he would have no difficulty in putting the friar out of his bed and onto his arse in short order. The fact that he hadn't was a very very good sign. The mouth beneath Carl's refused to kiss him back and he didn't force it. When Van Helsing turned his head away, Carl allowed it, ignoring the growl of disfavor he plainly heard in favor of licking and then sucking the now available ear. _Mmmm!_ That was a definite shiver.

Van Helsing shoved Carl back and up onto his elbows to meet the friar's eyes. Carl had no difficulty seeing the anger in the hazel gaze, nor in reading the plain, though silent message, _'Stop It'_. Hmph, not bloody likely.

"You want to be alone?" Carl hazarded innocently and was rewarded by a raised dark eyebrow and a sardonically quirked mouth that thinned the hunter's moist lips. That was a '_Yes_'. Of course, since Gabriel couldn't speak, it could also be a '_Let me think about it_' which really suited Carl's purposes so much better.

"Alright,' the friar smiled. "You think about it, and I'll just carry on, shall I?"

Ignoring the hunter's widened eyes of surprise, Carl dropped down off his elbows and settled purposely back onto the hard and soft planes of Van Helsing's chest. _Ahhh_, much better! Gabriel had a marvelous chest, perfect for snuggling against.

With deep pleasure, Carl ran his hands over it, feeling the heat of the smooth skin and the rasp of the hair. More squirming was taking place beneath him and Carl smiled as he upped the stakes by lowering his mouth to one of the rosy nipples and sucking it strongly into his mouth.

Several things happened at once then. He heard the rasping choked gasp of arousal, felt Van Helsing's hips buck upwards, and then felt himself being lifted off of the broad chest and pushed firmly back onto the mattress–where he was left as Van Helsing rose from the bed to pace the room, nude with crossed arms, his hands rubbing at the goose bumps on his biceps.

Hmph...that was a bit of a setback.

Sitting up, Carl watched the hunter pace, casting dark glances the friar's way as if Van Helsing didn't know what to do with or about him. Again, at least he wasn't out of the room nor was Carl. Things were progressing slowly, but there _was _progress. After all, Jinette _still _wasn't fully back in Gabriel's good graces after their set-to. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that it would take a little time for his own reinstatement as well. Of course, on the flip side, he had rather hoped that his relationship with Gabriel was a little more highly regarded than the one Gabriel shared with Jinette. If nothing else, Carl was better looking.

With a sudden realization that resembled the proverbial bolt out of the blue, Carl bounced on the bed. "Oh! You want to go _slower_?"

Van Helsing stopped to face Carl, his hands moving to his hips as both eyebrows rose in stern arches.

"Ah... Well, the silence thing takes a bit of getting used to, you know. I don't mind playing twenty questions but you're going to have to give me a run up to it. So...You don't mind my being here then?"

A semi-shrug, a grimace–not wildly enthusiastic, but not about to toss him out the door either.

"Hmph. A _tiny_ bit of enthusiasm wouldn't go amiss, you know. I understand you're feeling a bit raw...a bit angry. And if you'd just let yourself admit it, you'd realize you're actually delighted I came..."

Definite frown at that.

"Not _delighted_ then. All right, I understand that. Still, you know I meant only well. True, I was a bit of a trusting dolt, but one kiss to stop the killings seemed too good a thing to pass up."

Another frown at Carl, this time, though, the lips were canted in a sardonic grimace that Carl was well acquainted with.

"Yes, well easy for you to say...er... Anyway, my motives were good. So I should think you could see your way to forgiving me, couldn't you?"

A heart-stopping moment passed, then two, and then Van Helsing grimaced and shook his head with a resigned air. One hand rose to gently pat the air between them.

"Calm down? I'm not hysterical, Gabriel, just desperate."

Van Helsing sighed, his mouth working in a frustrated grimace at not being able to speak. He shook his head again at Carl, a definite smile touching his lips now.

Cannily, Carl smoothed his hand over the rumpled bed at his side. "Why don't you come to bed? I won't push, won't try to kiss or stroke you. You're upset, I understand that—but can't you be upset while you're holding me?"

Sliding over, Carl lifted the covers and patted the bed invitingly. "Come along, Gabriel. You'll catch your death of cold and that won't do your throat any good at all. Come to bed."

The hunter replied with a snort and a look that said plainly '_You're trying to get around me and I know it. When I get my voice back, we **will **talk about this'_.

And then he was sliding into the bed and into Carl's arms and the friar bit back an embarrassing sob of relief as he felt Van Helsing's arms enfold him in a hard hug. Returning the embrace with equal fervor, he wriggled into position against the firm hot body and laid his head down on the hunter's breast. A sigh of repletion emerged within his soft breath as the familiar steady beat of the heart beneath his ear lulled his last fears. Gabriel's heart still belonged to him, and he would make very sure that he never ever risked losing it again.

* * *

**Afterward**... 

In the flickering shadows that danced between light and darkness, Carl felt Van Helsing stir against him and then the hunter was pulling his face up to press his mouth to Carl's softly, gently, almost as if he were tasting Carl to verify no trace of Paul was present. Carl thanked the angels above that the kiss he had shared with Paul had been a dream only. He had never kissed a man before Gabriel and judging by the hunter's reactions to the dream kiss, Carl firmly vowed to never kiss anyone except Van Helsing again.

As if reading Carl's thoughts, Van Helsing drew away to meet the friar's eyes with a pleased smile. There it was...that air of ineffable satisfaction, the plainly stated proprietary claim upon Carl. The friar wondered if it was unique to Van Helsing or if it was part of the wolf taint. Judging from Dracula's bevy of beauties, vampires didn't mate for life...so to speak. But wolves did.

That thought made Carl blink wonderingly. He was aware of Van Helsing nuzzling him, nipping gently at his cheekbone, and then downwards onto his neck where the hunter settled, suckling. The sounds of it made Carl's toes curl as he felt the strong suction and then the sharp brief pain of a hard bite followed by the wet warmth of Van Helsing's tongue lapping at him.

The bite had been hard enough to draw blood, to mark him. Wolves didn't piss on their mates, but they did mark them in other ways apparently. Or was it the vampire with him now? Carl shuddered with a horrified arousal.

With a soft snarl that made the hair on Carl's body rise, Van Helsing moved to settle himself over Carl, sliding between his legs where he began to move against him, rutting gently but strongly. His hands stroked through the friar's blond hair, pulling his head up for a demanding sucking kiss that left Carl breathless.

The friar whimpered with pleasure as he responded, arching against Van Helsing, opening his mouth as he hugged the hot muscular body to him. He was being claimed, and he found it profoundly exciting.

Van Helsing dropped his face down over Carl's cheek again and the friar shuddered as he felt the hunter's jaws open and then close over the pounding pulse within his throat. He could feel his blood, veiled by thin fragile skin, moving against the hunter's wet tongue as Van Helsing moved lower to press against and then slowly to merge with Carl.

The pain was incredible but it was followed almost immediately by such an incredible sensation of ecstasy that Carl's head flew back and he cried out loudly. Their bodies moved as one, and always Carl felt Van Helsing's jaws holding his throat.

When the blinding white moment of release overtook them, Carl cried out, shuddering violently as he slid into a warm liquid twilight where he was only dimly aware of the strong body over him and the gentleness of Van Helsing's mouth on his once again.

He came to slowly, blinking; still shivering, he found he was now draped over Van Helsing's chest, warmly tucked in with blankets, with the steady thrumming beat of the hunter's heart beneath his ear. In the darkness he encircled his mate's body with his arms in a hard hug and felt Van Helsing's pleasure in it as they both drifted into deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

Within the deepest holds of Hell, Paul shrieked with anger and hatred as he dropped to his knees beside the reflecting pool, thrusting his fists into it to disrupt the view of the small dark bedroom. 

His lover and the beast had joined–that which Paul had most wanted, had dreamed of, was given to the rutting animal that now lay sated within Carl's arms.

Snarling, Paul pushed himself up to his feet to stand with head lowered and his hands gripped into fists as he called upon the hordes of Hell to bring his wrath down upon the village. With all of his power, he summoned his hatred and cast it toward the lovers.

tbc


	10. Blood Wars 10

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

Summary: Limbo-Dream Sequence concluded

**Notes: Mea Culpa! Oooh, I left it in a TERRIBLE place but the darned thing was getting longer than the book of Genesis! I promise to update asap!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are  
merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness,  
deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback**:Thanks to reviewers **Iblis, ****Gnomey, ****Kuruna Icefire, ****Jania, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Mithril Maiden, ****NikoruSanzo, ****Verona**** Dracula, ****Trinity the She Devil, ****Curious Dream Weaver**_. _

_**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 10**

The denizens of the Village of Pagans apparently had no need to sleep; rather, they devoted themselves to the semblance of normal activity with the attention and matter-of-fact devotion of normal people found everywhere. Mavis couldn't imagine spending an eternity in this manner. They acknowledged they were dead, that this place was their final stop, and yet they carried on as if it were the customary course of events.

In her wanderings, Mavis found herself at the back of the village, which she discovered was swarming with children. She had been aghast to discover infants and toddlers being tended to by teenagers and adults. When she drew close, they met her wondering eyes with complacent good humor and had pressed one of the many squalling infants into her unwilling arms. She was given an oval pewter cup with a round enclosed spout for the child to drink from and was then seated in a willow rocker in a quiet corner. The child, like any other, was huffily vocal about a late feeding and settled on the cup, its mouth greedily sucking at the tiny opening in the spout with a single-minded devotion that made the witch's eyes sting hotly. Why were these children here? The babes and toddlers were too small to have done anything to deserve being sent to this Catholic Hell. They certainly wouldn't understand whatever taint they were supposed to bear that would consign them to such a place, however outwardly pleasant it might be.

As Mavis rocked her charge and made small cooing noises to it, she felt her admittedly craggy heart open with warmth and thankfulness. It had been too long since she'd held a baby. After Stephan, she had left the care of the infants to others. It had hurt her too much to do otherwise. And, as such things often happened; time had passed on until too much of it had gone by. It was a fact, now, that Mavis didn't handle the babies, engrained in both her mind and her coven's. They never called her on it and she made no attempt to change things.

The baby in her arms looked scarcely older than a few months. Holding its warm body, hearing it drinking the milk, she watched the baby's face with wonder. Its hair was dark and thick, with the inclination to wander about the head in unruly cowlicks. Hiding the eyes were tiny, petal thin eyelids that were rosy with health. The dark eyelashes fanned over fat pink cheeks. Judging by the baby's weight, it certainly wasn't starving. And yet, in this place, the child she held to her breast was dead. Perhaps long ago, its parents had held it as she was now, with tears in their eyes before consigning it to the dark earth.

Abruptly sniffling, Mavis blinked rapidly and looked up with a frown at the unaccustomed maudlin ramblings of her mind. If this was the level she sank to when she got a baby in her arms again, it was best she left the chore to others.

As she blinked her eyes clear, she noted that a small silent crowd had gathered about her, ringing her chair with a respectful and visibly curious silence. They were all children, toddlers for the most part, though some were in their early teens. She met their eyes with a thoughtful silence of her own that seemed to encourage them, for the ring drew a little tighter, until she felt the brush of fingers on her left sleeve.

Looking about, she found herself looking into the eyes of a little brown-haired girl who had clearly screwed up her courage to approach the stranger and was determined to see it through. She met Mavis' gaze shyly before pointing at the baby in the witch's arms.

"That's my brother," she informed her listener with the sobriety of a judge. "His name is Uhlrin."

"Uhlrin," Mavis repeated, and then nodded. "A good name. And what is yours?"

"Medwin. You are a stranger. Have you come to stay, then?"

The witch smiled before shaking her head. "_Nein_...no, child. I will not be staying here. We must journey on shortly."

"Oh. All right." Medwin gave the witch a small smile, and then turned to go.

"Wait, child," Mavis protested, shifting the baby awkwardly in an attempt to free a hand to lie on the girl's shoulder. The infant was barely aware of the jostling, his head turned to follow the source of his milk with enviable single-mindedness.

The little girl obediently turned back, once again coming to stand against Mavis' chair, her little round belly pressed firmly against the wood.

Looking into her clear brown eyes, Mavis found herself smiling. There was no evil taint of any kind in those eyes; she was simply a little girl, as she had been in life and now in her death.

"Tell me, Medwin, of your life here," Mavis coaxed.

The child shrugged. "I live here now...soon I'll go to another place."

"Another place," Mavis mused, frowning slightly. "What is this other place, then?"

Medwin seemed to be at a loss to explain as she stood twisting her grubby fingers on the arm of Mavis' chair. A shrug was the only answer the girl made, but from the ring of watchful children, another spoke up. Mavis pinpointed the voice and found it came from one of the older children, a boy this time.

"We go to a nice place," he supplied, helpfully. "Where there is lots of love and light and good things to eat."

"Ja? This place, it sounds like here, does it not? You have fun here...there are children to play with and things to eat here."

"Mmmm...yes," the boy admitted dubiously. "But there is another place we're _supposed_ to be. We're here now only for a little while. Before we go on to the other place."

"And do you know what this 'other place' is called?" the witch asked and was answered now by more voices, all saying different things. Judging by what the children said, Mavis equated their destination to be similar to that of the Catholic Heaven or her own Summerland. Evidently, the children, being innocent of sin, would be entering their final destination via the back door. It made Mavis angry to think of that. Children should not be ushered into their Heaven or Valhalla or whatever via a backdoor—they should spill into it via the windows and chimneys and the front doors via wooden carts and strolling carriages and upon their own sturdy round legs.

"Why did you come here first?" Mavis asked the boy and watched him fidget for an answer.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I think, maybe, we all come here first. Just for a while, before we finally go home."

"Ah..." Mavis sighed, and then shrugged. "I am happy to hear that you will be going home, child. You are not afraid?"

"No," the boy smiled now. "I'm never afraid when I think of home. I wish all the time that I was already there. I feel safe and happy when I think of home."

Mavis nodded, a smile touching her lips. "Home. Ja, that is a wonderful place. I miss home as well. It is a comfort to be reminded of it. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the boy's smile widened.

The baby chose that moment to hiccup, and Mavis looked down at the infant in surprise. A fine guardian she was, to forget she was holding him! Handing the milk cup to Medwin, Mavis lifted the infant to her shoulder and firmly patted his back until she was rewarded with a loud belch.

"Ew," Medwin scrunched her nose, fanning the air. "Milk breath!"

"Ja, better milk breath than milk down my back," Mavis replied smugly. She hadn't lost her touch with feeding a baby after all. Settling the child firmly against her shoulder with a mindful hand behind his head, she stood up and moved through the children, taking the baby back to the woman she had received him from.

He was received with a smile but none of the warmth of a parent. These children were taken care of, but not loved here. The boy was right, home was better than Limbo.

She said her goodbyes to the children, who had already started to drift off. Evidently, the witch's novelty had worn off, and she admitted that was as it should be.

Benerd sighed with happy repletion as he sat back from the heavy oak table that groaned beneath all things edible. He had only to mention that he'd been hungry and the people of the village had been more than willing to trot out their best. Meats and fruits and breads and lovely lovely wine. Everything was cooked perfectly and delicately seasoned—and even then, possible differences in taste had been accounted for as the last thing set on the table was a perfectly enormous bowl of salt.

Now, after a solid hour of eating, he leaned back with a blissful belch and a feeling of contentment. His stomach rose well over the level of the table and he'd set his tankard of wine upon it with the silly notion of simply spending the rest of the day sitting and watching the cup go up and down with every breath.

For Hell, this place had all the earmarks of a pretty nice place!

Allowing his eyes to close, he settled back in his comfortable chair and set his thoughts to wandering. Naturally enough, they turned to the friar and his hunter. It didn't take a genius to see the two were at odds and Benerd found that thought disquieting. It was becoming apparent to the monk that a great deal was resting upon the two men's ongoing relationship. He'd made a careful list within his mind of their situation and the foes they faced and had come to some disquieting conclusions, the first being that Paul and Dracula had differing agendas. Paul wanted Carl, for love's sake, he claimed. The cambion also wanted Van Helsing dead. These two things were non-negotiable within the cambion's mind.

On the other hand, Dracula desired something from Van Helsing and from what Benerd had been able to observe, he suspected that the vampire wanted to hoist the hunter on his own petard. By a series of events, Dracula hoped to cause the hunter to call forth the beast within him, thereby damning the hunter. The alternative could possibly be to turn Van Helsing into a vampire as well, and again, that would effectively damn him. What did the vampire hope to achieve? Revenge certainly, but that seemed a small motive in the scheme of things. In this place of fallen angels and twisting darkness, it seemed far more likely that the vampire had a greater incentive to turn the hunter. If he delivered the Left Hand of God to the devil, it wasn't inconceivable that there would be a reward. What reward would Dracula desire of the devil? Life? Or the return to the semblance of it, perhaps with the greatest prize of all—the return of feeling.

With these two scenarios within his mind, there only remained how the plans of their two foes would affect each other? Regrettably, the vampire lord knew about the friar's involvement with Van Helsing. It wasn't a far stretch to assume that he'd make use of it—if Benerd were in the Count's place, he certainly would. How would Carl figure in Dracula's plans? And how would Paul act to ensure he acquired the friar rather than the vampire?

No matter how he sliced it, Benerd felt their situation was messy and entirely too fraught with danger for their own good. The only thing that would keep them safe was the continuing relationship of Van Helsing and Carl and their obdurate refusal to make a sacrificing deal with either the cambion or the vampire.

It occurred to the monk that he should really get up and share his insights with the two other men, but he was quite comfortable and it seemed reasonable to hold his thoughts until the hunter and friar arose from their long-overdue sleep. Naturally, while he waited, a nap seemed like a good idea to Benerd as well.

With this excellent plan in mind, Benerd allowed his thoughts to drift to other less taxing subjects as he slid gently into sleep.

Across the perpetual somber sky, the ramparts of Valerious Castle etched a sullen dark silhouette. In its shadow, nothing flew, walked or crawled that its owner did not know of it. Dracula stood there now, looking out over the dark roiling landscape that surrounded his prison and his home. The sight of devastation and agony surrounding him on this level failed to quail his spirit. His master had long ago worked his worst upon the vampire lord—now surrounded by the torments of Hell's punishments upon the wicked, the vampire found his dark heart invigorated.

Within Hell, he saw the sullen spreading cancer that he identified as the cambion and his works. The demon was drawing attention to himself, attempting to warp and use Hell for his own advantages without asking permission first. That wasn't wise. While Dracula's master was pleased with his new toy and was prepared to wait and see, that plan didn't suit the vampire's requirements. Stephan—or Paul as he called himself now—was a distraction that amused Hell-his writhing and twisting under the hatred he carried like a cross upon his back was the stuff of a moment's diversion and he was allowed some leeway in his role as Hell's jester. But his plans for Van Helsing, while appealing, were not to be allowed. They conflicted too drastically with Dracula's own needs, so they would be thwarted or even nullified. The hunter must not be killed to easily, first he had to fulfill the purpose for which he had been brought to Hell. It was time to give the cambion a new vision—new dreams to ponder and act upon.

For now, judging by the hordes that he had shattered the boundaries of Hell to set loose, Dracula would need to stir himself.

Effortlessly, he summoned the beast within and felt his body sunder and reform into the dark image of his tortured soul—or whatever passed for it these days.

Thunder exploded over the devastated landscape as he took wing and turned his eyes to the Village of Pagans.

**_Set free...screaming, writhing, crawling and flying, they were set free of their boundaries for the first time in eternity. In a massive deluge they washed over foreign shores and consumed, overwhelmed or joined those waiting to greet them before moving on. The numbers ebbed with each new level reached, but the majority of Hell's inhabitants moved onwards towards the place of their appointed meeting, a small village on the cusp of suffering. They would now discover what true suffering was._**

Van Helsing thrust upwards from the mattress, spilling Carl from his warm nestling spot over his heart. The hunter's eyes were wide open but he didn't see the dimly-lit room or the friar. Instead he saw a vast plain unfold beneath him, tilting and swaying as the leathery wings that bore him up stroked the still air. Below, he could see the ground heave beneath the hordes of monsters, all of them heading for one location.

"Gabriel? What is it? Are you able to talk now?"

He heard Carl, could feel the friar's hands upon his body, but still the image of the undulating plains persisted. Then he heard his own voice speaking.

"They're coming. The gates have been opened and Hell is coming."

"Hell? Gabriel, we're already in Hell. You're dreaming..."

"No. We have to clear the village—send them across the river, before the creatures Paul has released arrive."

Carl's hands on his shoulders dug into his flesh, shaking him so that he blinked, and the image of the plains faded to be replaced with the dark room and the friar's horrified face.

"Gabriel? What's happening?"

"Carl...get up, now."

Thrusting back the coverlets, the hunter rose from the bed and began to dress quickly. Carl didn't wait to be told a second time; instead he scrambled up as well and began shoving on his clothing as quickly as he could. Dressing did not preclude talking however, and he questioned the hunter minutely about his vision.

Van Helsing was able to supply very little else besides what he had already said. He didn't know where the vision had come from or even how long they might have until the hordes of monsters reached them. He only knew that they had to move _now_. It never occurred to Carl to doubt the hunter; Gabriel wasn't given to hysterics or waking nightmares. If he'd seen such a thing, then it must be on its way. He paused only once in his dressing to rummage within his bags briefly before finding what he wanted. To Van Helsing's impatience he waved the flask in his hand.

"Holy water. You never have any with you-if we're going to be fighting monsters you might need this."

Carl thrust the flask into a pocket of Van Helsing's long leather coat, patting the lump it made with satisfaction before turning to his own preparations.

Together, hunter and friar left their room, splitting up once they gained the street to speed up their mission of informing the villagers and getting as many to safety as possible. It wasn't easy, at first they weren't believed and precious time was wasted as the villagers questioned each other, seeking a consensus before they'd move.

The job became much easier when Carl found Mavis-the witch immediately took it upon herself to go collect the children. With the children under her wing, the adults followed.

Van Helsing found his job somewhat easier—it was almost impossible to meet his dark haunted eyes and not believe the hunter was deadly serious. As the village slowly, slowly began to move, to gather their belongings and then to filter out on their way to the river, Van Helsing kept his eyes open for Benerd. He finally found the monk, asleep beneath a shaded porch with a happy smile upon his face and a tankard of wine upon his stomach. Judging by the long table covered with food before him, the monk had just finished his midday meal and was enjoying a siesta. Benerd wasn't happy to be rousted from his pleasant slumbers, but once he'd been apprised of the situation he began to help herd the people along, not allowing them to stop or linger.

Leaving Benerd to the job, Van Helsing made his way painstakingly through the now-largely empty village, going from dwelling to dwelling searching for stragglers and directing them on their way. It horrified him to find people who insisted upon remaining or upon taking so many belongings with them that they could barely move. Those that were reluctant to leave were given the option of leaving or having him set fire to their dwelling. For those that loaded themselves down, he forced them to leave it behind, sometimes smashing the items they tried to carry and taking upon himself their vilification and anger. They might hate his seeming insensitivity, but they went and that satisfied him.

He was at the far edge of the village now, closest to the incoming hordes when he found the last of the stragglers attempting to hide themselves in a barn. He didn't know if they were trying to hide themselves from the incoming monsters or himself but he rousted them without pity, sending a few sprawling onto the dirt road. When they would have argued, he lifted his crossbow from his shoulder and their arguments melted like ice.

When the villagers were well on their way, he turned back to the barn grimly, prepared to give it one last looking over.

The village was deathly quiet now, its quietude was tinged with the uneasy feel of panic that tainted the air and made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise. Lifting his face to the air, he scented it, searching for life and thankfully finding none. Satisfied, he entered the barn for one last look.

The massive wooden structure had a drowsy warmth to it that belied the urgency saturating the air of the town. Golden straw beneath his feet muffled his footsteps, allowing only the smallest brittle noises of the stalks breaking beneath his boots. Dust motes from the chaff floated about him, twirling and gliding in a silent ballet, transfixed within the converging spotlights from two large windows that punctured the sides of the structure. He batted the motes aside, narrowing his eyes to peer into the dark stalls and then at the loft above. If anyone remained, he should have been able to scent them, but perversely he suddenly found that he didn't have faith in that ability. Instead, he would make certain the old-fashioned way. A search disclosed the loft ladder along the side of a stall; leaving his crossbow leaning against the partition, he wrestled the ladder into place, finally settling it with a dull thud against the open edge of the loft. It creaked beneath his weight but it seemed to be sturdy enough so he quickly climbed upwards. Mercifully, he found the hay-filled ledge empty of any last minute hangers on-now he had only to get himself out of the village. His efforts to get the stragglers out had taken too long as it was, he would be racing the leading edge of the incoming invasion all the way to the river.

Climbing gingerly back down the protesting ladder, he jumped half-way down for a ten-foot drop, thudding into the cushioning straw. The golden litter swished over his legs as he waded through it to collect his crossbow before turning back to the door. His mind was already on the journey to catch up with the villagers as he headed for the bright doorway with long strides; halfway to his goal, however, he abruptly stopped and lifted his face to scent the air, unaware that his lips had parted to bare his white teeth in a snarl.

Quietly, carefully, he stepped back, angling away from the doorway, his crossbow dropping from his shoulder to his arms to be primed. The barn appeared to be empty, but the air had changed; he was not the only one in the structure now.

"Come out," Van Helsing called. "I know you're there."

Nothing, no sound, no indication that anyone but himself still stood within the deserted village. And yet, he was sure he wasn't alone.

"What are you waiting for? Come out."

More silence-and then the soft muffled sound of leather striking leather in a cadence that tightened his jaw as he recognized it as clapping.

"Very good, My Gabriel. You have grown adept at your gifts and use them well."

From out of the seemingly empty air, as if emerging from an unseen wrinkle within the diffused light itself, the vampire lord emerged, his eyes riveted upon the hunter as he clapped once more, then dropped his gloved hands to his sides. He wore a loose white linen shirt, caught at the wrists and open at the neck to the sternum to expose the pale skin and a misting of dark glossy hair upon it. Tight dark trousers hugged long muscular legs, ending in the tops of tall dark leather boots. Against the plain wood and golden straw, Dracula should have been readily visible, but his appearance was horrifying in its suddenness.

Immediately, Van Helsing backed away, angling his steps toward the large window in the side wall. The dust motes danced thick about him and he blinked, and then froze as he realized the Count was no longer before the door. Whirling, he stumbled back, away from the vampire that had appeared behind him. Dracula stepped after him in a taunting game of cat and mouse. When Van Helsing neared the door, suddenly the vampire was there, smiling enigmatically at him—toward the windows and again the vampire lord appeared, indolently leaning against the sill with a mockingly sad pout upon his lips. When the hunter brought his weapon to bear, the vampire was gone again.

"What do you want?" Van Helsing asked the seemingly empty stillness; whirling about, he saw only the glittering dust motes and subdued light—he was alone, and yet he knew that he was not. He felt the touch of evil, of darkness like spider legs upon his skin bringing with it the assurity that he was watched though the watcher remained invisible. "Come out."

"Very well, Gabriel." The silken whisper was in his ear as long cold fingers delicately caressed his throat over the large vein. "Be careful when you call the devil, My Gabriel—unlike God, he always comes."

Whirling, Van Helsing moved away from the vampire, the crossbow rising to sight him. Dracula obligingly spread his arms as if offering a clear target. Knowing that the vampire could not be killed, Van Helsing still had to fight the urge to take the shot. Dracula could feel pain and that was proving to be a balm to the hunter's anger.

He addressed himself to the vampire lord again. "What do you want?"

"Must I want something?"

"You're here aren't you? Or do vampires make social calls?"

Dracula shrugged with the satisfied air of a large, well-fed cat. "Even vampires enjoy the amenities of life—to preserve the illusion of it with its tantalizing demands and restrictions. It adds spice to the game."

"The game?"

"Yes, the game... We face one another...we talk as old friends talk...maneuvering about one another upon the fine edge of life and death. It has an allure, an irresistible mystique that is addictive."

Van Helsing shook his head, a puzzled frown drawing his brows down and thinning his lips. "I don't understand what you're talking about." As he spoke, he took a careful step backwards, almost imperceptibly.

"Don't you? What do you think we are here for, except to tease and bait one another, daring the other to take the first step, to cross the line between politesse and mayhem. You hold your weapon ready for the first shot—while I stand ready to take your life. It is the grim game of the warrior that has gone on for centuries. We are both well used to it."

The hunter felt a feral smile come to his lips, the mirror of the one on Dracula's. He _was_ well used to it. At his elbow he felt the heavy outline of the bottle of holy water that Carl had given to him-it wouldn't kill Dracula, but it would distract him. But looking at the Count, seeing the vampire's watchful stance, he didn't use it. What stopped him from taking the first shot, making the first move, was curiosity. Dracula wasn't here to kill him or he'd already be dead. So the question remained.

"What do you want?" Van Helsing asked and lowered the cross bow to his side. The time was growing short, the wave of incoming monsters would be upon them within the hour, but he had to know what the vampire knew.

He was gratified to see the fleeting look of surprise on the Count's face. It lasted only a second; when it faded, the vampire's expression was avid with an absorption that made the hunter's skin crawl.

"'What do I want?' Always you ask what I want. You used to ask that same question so long ago. Always the same, never satisfied with my answer."

"If a man asks the same question for that long, he's entitled to the truth," Van Helsing replied grimly.

"And what is the truth, Gabriel?" With firm footsteps, the vampire stalked toward the hunter, raising his eyebrow as the crossbow immediately came up but never stopping, never hesitating, moving forward until his chest pressed against the bow. "You want to understand my purpose, my plans? What is the balance that binds us together? To understand that, you must be prepared to take certain steps."

"What steps?" Van Helsing rasped, his eyes never leaving the Count's.

With a gentle grace, Dracula's hand rose to lightly brush the bow aside, then he took the last step forward to place himself before Van Helsing. So slowly he almost seemed to float, he leaned forward to place his cheek against the hunter's, rubbing his cold flesh against the hot skin gently. Their bodies were almost close enough to touch, the merest sliver of light remained between them, but the only contact remained the slow gentle glide of their cheeks.

"My Gabriel..." The words were a whisper that barely reached Van Helsing's ear, and sent a strong shiver through him as the touch of a forgotten thread of memory played with his mind.

"Vlad." Van Helsing closed his eyes hard, reached for it, and then snarled as it eluded his grasp.

"So greedy, so quick to reach instead of waiting for it to come to you," the vampire purred as his long fingers now stroked through the tangled locks of Van Helsing's hair, bringing them to his pale lips. "The living have an allure, a vibrant spark that is irresistible. You don't have to reach for it, My Gabriel; it will come to you because it cannot help it."

Van Helsing's breath caught in his throat as his blood thundered through his veins. The sound of it was loud, gauchely so. The dark quietude of the Count's breathless silence was more in keeping with the closeness their bodies shared. It gave nothing away and yet it seemed to pull the life from him like a moth to a flickering red flame—its dancing wings hovering about the hypnotic light until the flame embraced and consumed it.

He felt a muzzy surprise when the vampire's lips caressed his throat, bestowing soft lingering kisses that pressed the chill mouth firmly against his flesh—then the barest touch of moisture as a tongue flickered out to lick the thin skin over the large pulsing vein. He bit his lower lip hard to stop the moan that shook him and had to fight against the urge to tilt his head and offer himself to the vampire. He should never have allowed the vampire to get so close but he couldn't move.

Again the tongue flickered out, this time licking his throat wetly, tracing the vein before lips closed over it to gently suck the slick flesh before releasing it. Long fingers slid into his hair, combing through it, and then gripping the cool strands to pull his head back and bare his throat.

"Do you wish me to mark you, My Gabriel?" Dracula whispered.

His body wanted it, craved it. He wanted to know, just once, what it felt like to be held immobile by utter bliss as the vampire lord fed from his veins. To press his body to Dracula's and give himself over to the vampire's desire.

With his thoughts came the realization that he now felt the Count's body pressed to his and the moist mouth was back, nipping playfully at his throat, and then sucking the warm flesh with gentle noises of arousal.

"My Gabriel." The words had the tone of satisfaction and possession to them and Van Helsing felt a cold shiver caress his body. "Soon you will no longer be cold, my friend. There will only be the darkness and the hunger that you will learn to feed."

He felt Dracula's lips move back onto his cheek then, hungrier now, the kisses becoming less mesmerizing, more demanding. He frowned and felt his body's response as the muscles across his shoulders and in his arms contracted. When the lips, warmed by his own flesh, reached his mouth, Van Helsing turned his head away,

Dracula's mordant chuckle reached his ear as he felt the vampire's arms slide down to encircle him, pulling him tightly against the firm body. "Ah...you have awakened. It is better this way—I would not have you join me meekly as a lamb to the slaughter."

He _was_ awake, recognizing the fading mists of the vampire's glamour. Part of him missed the warm languorous wantonness of it and he felt shame for that desire. His arms were down at his side, he now brought them up, one hand sliding between them to push back against Dracula's embrace, the other slipping into his coat, searching.

Dracula's eyes, so close now, had a look of satisfaction in them that made Van Helsing's skin crawl. He shoved harder against the vampire, turning his head when the Count would have kissed him.

"No?" the vampire pouted mockingly. "So quickly your desire cools."

"Let's say I've come to my senses, shall we?" the hunter growled as he leaned back from the Count's body. "If you're going to kill me, then do it. Don't waste time trying to seduce me."

"You are very quick to push pleasure away, My Gabriel."

"I'm not your Gabriel," Van Helsing snapped, anger and self-loathing making his voice harsh and feral. "I've no desire for your dark tricks, Dracula. I only want answers—if you were here to simply kill me, you would have done it by now. So what is it you really want? For me to want it? To willingly become something foul like you? Or are you trying to force a battle between us again, hoping I'll call the beast and end up trapped forever in Hell? What do you get out of it? And don't mention pleasure again—if that was what you were offering, you wouldn't have dropped the glamour. You want me to fight you—why? What will you get out of it?"

Dracula's arm slid away from Van Helsing's back to rise, capturing the hand that pressed between them to pull it to his chest, over the pale skin and dark mist of hair. Again, the warm delicious desire curled between them, making Van Helsing's skin flush and his groin tingle.

Savagely, he shook his head and dropped his hand, snarling when Dracula caught his wrist and forced his hand back to the vampire's chest.

"Stop it!" he growled.

Still the warmth continued, spreading over his skin like a blanket. Van Helsing groaned as he watched his fingers curl in the hair on Dracula's chest, stroking the fine pale skin, feeling it move beneath his palm.

"Do not be so quick to discount pleasure, My Gabriel," Dracula purred. "It is one of the few things that transcends death and makes our existence bearable."

"You can't feel it," Van Helsing murmured, watching his hand move of its own accord up over the Count's chest to pet the hollow of his throat, stroking his throat before moving behind to comb through the long silky dark hair.

"I feel the satisfaction of it...the knowledge that it brings me what I want. As it will bring you to me, My Gabriel. Tell me you want me, that you desire my touch and you will discover what it is that I want."

"Vlad..." Van Helsing's fingers combed through the long strands of cool dark hair, feeling it slither over his palm like water before being caught firmly in his grasp. "Go to the devil!"

Dracula roared as Van Helsing's hidden hand rose, upending the flask of holy water over the vampire's chest and neck. Within the mortal world, the effects of the water were minimal—here in Hell the result of the water contacting the vampire was a conflagration. Red light exploded between them blinding and burning the hunter; within his nostrils the stench of burning flesh was choking. Dracula's screams of anger and agony pierced the air as he thrust the hunter from him hard enough that Van Helsing's flying body cracked the pale wooden wall on the opposite side of the barn.

Immediately, Van Helsing scrambled to his feet and ran for the window, throwing himself through it in a cloud of flying glass and broken wooden frames. He hit the ground rolling and kept going, putting as much distance between himself and the barn as possible.

He'd barely turned the corner of the barn when he heard the wall explode behind him and the monstrous flapping sound of giant wings filled the air.

tbc


	11. Blood Wars Part 11

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek" 

**Summary: Van Helsing, Carl and Benerd must fight the monsters swarming over Limbo; Mavis reveals more of Paul's history**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Kuruna Icefire**, **Pineapple Ice, ****Gnomey, ****Iblis, ****Jania, ****Trinity The She Devil, ****Curious Dream Weaver**_**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 11**

_What was clean and untouched is now defiled. What was special and reserved by God is torn and bloody with the seed of the devil within it. All that made him unique and reserved for me has been trampled and cast away. It's not difficult to understand why—the beast knows me as well as I know him. He knows how to hurt me by taking what I most treasure._

_I still have the dreams—they come nightly now, showing me how it would be between Carl and I. Every time my resolve falters or my hatred diminishes even the smallest bit, the dreams come to remind me. I curse them even as I caress them. If all I can have of Carl are the dreams, then I will settle for even those, though they so often show me the beast Van Helsing as well. Through the dreams I've come to know Carl, every little piece of him. I've seen him lying naked in the moonlight. I know what he enjoys, that he doesn't like to rise in the morning and that he makes such loud commotions over washing with cold water yet he always cleans himself so thoroughly. I know, because I watch. And now, through the beast's attentions, he is soiled in such a way that no water shall ever cleanse him._

_I promise him, as I was made whole, he shall be made whole. I will burn the impurity from his body and mind and make his heart whole again. I can make it mine once again. I love him. I love him. I cannot leave him to die in the arms of the beast._

* * *

Carl urged the villagers to walk faster, to help those who were old and infirm, to carry the small toddlers and to hold the hands of the older children. They had to keep moving. He couldn't bear to see them be hurt by what followed them. This was Hell and within Hell the unimaginable horrors that were consigned to disbelief and oblivion in the light of day were now reality. Flight was their only recourse now and prayer was his. 

He prayed non-stop as he urged them on, his lips moving in murmured words of love and pleas for delivery. He saw their eyes widen in wonder and unfamiliarity over the words and he raised his voice, so that they could hear and learn. These people had never heard the name of Christ, had never known that they were beloved enough to save through Christ's blood and suffering. That someone they had never heard of had willingly died for them. They knew only the docility of the village they had left and the unimaginable place that they would one day go to. Not even Carl understood that place or why they went, after time, and not right away.

As he prayed so did Benerd, responding to the prayers with ringing conviction. Praying to God, hoping their words reached him from Hell, Carl could only have faith as he pushed them on.

**…**

Mavis said nothing, neither joining in nor condemning. She had heard these prayers before, had even said them. But she had said them with the marks of a branding iron still bleeding upon her back. She had never known the mercy and love of Christ, only the punishment of the German Inquisition that twisted his words into a license to deliver pain unto others. The words were beautiful, the Inquisition was not.

She had come to the Church tied onto a horse with her small son following her on another. The hunter that had found her and forced her to come was riding now, silent and dark beside her. He was always silent, a merciless shadow that had followed and hunted them for weeks. She finally thought herself safe and that was when he had taken them. He wouldn't answer her pleas or her curses. He wouldn't allow her to ride with or even to speak with Stephan. And when he finally delivered them to the Inquisition in a small German town, he had not looked back when he rode away.

She had learned later what he was-a hunter for the Church, a man who sought the enemies of the Church and delivered them to the Inquisition. He had never given her his name and she had never learned it in all of the time she was in the Inquisition's hands.

She had been allowed to speak to Stephan once more, after she had recanted and repented, and she had explained what had happened to him. He had been frightened and had nightmares of the dark man who had ridden silently with them. Not surprising really. She had explained that he was the Church's hunter and one of the dogs of the Inquisition. That had been a mistake.

To Stephan, that man had become the dark symbol for all who worked within the Church, inextricably linked to the pain of the Inquisition and what followed after. He hated them all now and most especially one man in particular. Wherever he had heard it, whatever had convinced him that the name, the curse-_Left Hand of God_—belonged to the dark man, that name had become the embodiment of all evil. Her son had at last found a name to give to the source of all his pain.

She never knew this, never had the opportunity to speak with her son again. She could have told him that the man who was labeled thus had never known them. She had made very certain of that before she had allowed Van Helsing into Dietz.

It was so odd that, while hating the Church and everyone in it, Stephan had ultimately found love with a churchman. True, the little friar was hardly your typical churchman. He cursed, he drank, and no doubt he had a lively sexual appetite that he had indulged from one end of Europe to the other. And he was a genius with a kind if absent-minded manner. He had been gentle with her son, had opened his mind to wonderful exciting things while encouraging a friendship. And like the child that Stephan was, he had returned the affection a hundred-fold.

Time went by-Stephan had found the dark man he had searched for and had worked to set his revenge in motion. What a cosmic irony that the man he most hated and the only other human being that he could love, should fall in love with each other. Carl and Gabriel were meant for each other-and her son had once again lost everything.

Mavis squinted up into the grey roiling skies above her and wondered if God had a sense of humor. It certainly seemed as if something or someone was having a very good laugh at her son's expense.

**…**

Benerd's thoughts were also with the Hunter. They had urged and cajoled and finally bullied the villagers on their way, always believing that Van Helsing would catch up to them. With every moment that passed, however, it was becoming more and more obvious that the Hunter would not be joining them-either he had been detained or he had chosen to remain. The monk watched Carl's haunted eyes darting backwards to scan the empty plain behind them, his prayers to God assuming an added emphasis with each step taken. It hurt to watch the anxiety grow within the friar—Benerd could almost hear Carl's thundering pulse now. Soon, soon the friar would turn back as if pulled by a stout rope. He wouldn't be able to help himself.

Knowing the two men, Gabriel and Carl, Benerd knew that he would turn back as well, leaving the witch to make certain that the villagers reached the river. It was ridiculous, of course, to leave to one person the task of herding all of these; but if any single person _could_ do it, he had very little doubt that person would be Mavis.

Besides, Benerd had yet to share his insights with Carl. It was possible that they could prove to be very important—or complete balderdash. But one never knew. In any case, Carl and his lover were important to Benerd. The monk had come to think upon them as family. It felt so odd, after all this time alone with his work to finally come to need another person—two persons.

Gabriel was the stern older brother. Benerd was more than a little intimidated by the man. He also had a profound respect verging upon hero worship for him-something Van Helsing was hardly likely to encourage so Benerd kept it to himself. He liked the Hunter and rejoiced to see his stern dark demeanor gradually growing lighter as he spent more time with Carl.

And Carl was Benerd's younger brother. True, the concept that they were all brothers led to some sticky questions when faced with Gabriel and Carl's love affair but Benerd chose to glance over that part of it. After all, these were feelings, not actual blood ties. Carl's decision to make Benerd his confidant concerning his fledgling relationship had made the monk a little uncomfortable at first. However, Benerd had rapidly come to appreciate his unique position as he came to know Carl better. It tickled him now, to watch the two men together and to hear them bicker and wrangle one another. He enjoyed it and didn't pay too much attention to the little voice in his head about the sinfulness of it.

After all these men had been through and would yet go through, that little voice seemed a very petty thing indeed.

**…**

As expected, Carl finally stopped—standing, facing the now-out-of-sight village, the friar appeared briefly torn, then suddenly resolute. He turned to Mavis and asked a silent question, receiving her nod of understanding and absolution. When he turned to Benerd, the monk was already moving back toward the village.

"Benerd?" Carl called, frowning though his voice held the ring of hope within it.

"We should hurry. No telling what trouble Gabriel has gotten himself into without you there."

"I…I thought you would help Mavis…."

"She doesn't need my help. You do. Or have you forgotten that you need someone to watch your back while you watch Gabriel's?"

The friar's smile of acceptance was cut short by one of the villagers who approached with a nervous smile. Carl didn't remember speaking with the man before, but the fellow was brisk and to the point—there was a lab in the village, one where those who were so inclined could work on their inventions. If Carl could make use of it, he was more than welcome. His message delivered, the villager hastily resumed his place in the moving column of people.

And that was that. So easily accomplished. Carl saw the witch move on with the villagers stringing along behind her before he turned back and followed Benerd.

* * *

Van Helsing threw himself to the ground and felt the vampire pass over him, followed almost immediately by the clap of thunder when dark wings cupped the air as the vampire lord reoriented himself. Scrabbling to his feet, the hunter threw himself back toward the barn. His crossbow was inside; he'd had to leave it behind when he'd broken away the first time. True, it wouldn't kill the vampire, but anything that would slow him down was looking like a very good idea at the moment. 

He dodged about the corner of the building and then into the doorway, never stopping his headlong flight. Dracula was right behind him, the sound of his wings was deafening within the enclosed structure.

Spotting his crossbow, he lunged for it, closing his fingers on the stock just as strong clawed feet seized his calves and jerked him head over heels into the air.

Dangling, twisting, Van Helsing squinted through the whirling clouds of dust and chaff at the vampire above him. Dracula was headed toward the hole that he'd created in the side of the building. If he got through that, he'd have them 100 feet off the ground within seconds.

Awkwardly, the hunter brought the crossbow up and aimed it at the wings flexing above him. His gloved finger flicked the switch on the side of the bow to change the ammunition to projectile just as the vampire lord reached the opening and slammed the hunter against the wooden wall.

For an instant, Van Helsing saw only blackness while the weapon fell from his hands to the ground below. The comparatively bright light outside of the building roused him and he blinked bemusedly past his dangling arms at the ground that was rapidly pulling away. His eyes flew open wide as his head snapped up to see the vampire above him.

"No!" Twisting, squirming within the vampire's hold, he curled up and seized the clawed feet that held him, and then lunged back at the trailing edge of a large wing. He hung from it, perpendicular to the ground, and felt the vampire's flightfalter and skew with his weight.

A sharp wrenching yank at his legs almost made him lose his grip on the wing; he managed to hang on with one hand, flailing with the other until that too caught hold again. He couldn't look to see how high they were but he had a nasty suspicion that a fall from their current height would not be good for either of them. He had to get the vampire lower.

Bracing himself, he yanked on the wing, bouncing his weight from it, and felt the bat slew violently. Judging by the snarling and garbled words that erupted from the saber-lined mouth, Dracula was not happy with his hostage.

And then suddenly, Van Helsing was falling and the sounds coming out of his own mouth were close to a scream.

Dracula had let go of his legs and the ground was far far below. He fell, stopping only when his hold on the wing saved him. It supported him as he swung on it and he started to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard the vampire's cry, thin and sharp like a night bird, and suddenly they were both falling.

A sharp retort above him informed him that the vampire was trying to slow their fall with his remaining wing so he held on with all his strength and watched the ground rise up to meet them. It did so with frightening speed.

When they hit, it knocked the wind out of them both. For several moments man and vampire lay upon the ground motionless, their limbs entangled with one another, almost hidden by the large wings. When Van Helsing stirred dazedly, he opened his eyes to find himself face-to-face with the bat. The abrupt surge of adrenaline through his veins brought him to instant clarity; he scrabbled back feeling the wings over him stir and lift as the vampire rose to its feet.

Awkwardly, Van Helsing rose and backed away. He was growing very tired of this dance.

"I don't suppose you want to call it a draw?" he panted hopefully.

* * *

Carl and Benerd ran back toward the village with weapons drawn and awkwardly bouncing on their shoulders. It wasn't certain what had held the hunter up, but it was reasonable to assume that it had been something nasty. 

Carl inwardly cursed as he scanned the open plain, trying to spot the least sign that they were almost at the village. Then he was yelling aloud as he ran straight into the wooden wall of the first building and bounced off it.

Benerd, by a miracle, managed to avoid running right over Carl by veering sharply to rebound off the wall instead. He managed to stay upright but it cost him several deep splinters.

Shaking his head, Carl managed a very creditable growl before thrusting up from the ground, seizing his gun as he rose.

"Come on!" He called as he ran, stumbling slightly, into the village proper.

"'Come on,' he says," Benerd moaned as he wiped the sweat from his red plump face and shambled after the friar. "I'm having a heart attack and he says 'come on'!"

Their staggering run brought them to the center of the village and the well when they heard the first thunderous retort and then the sounds of screaming.

"My God," Carl murmured.

"I…I don't think…that's God," Benerd panted as he clicked the safety off the tojo gun. He saw the friar do likewise before he headed at a dead run for the sounds of the monsters ahead.

"Oh…you _are_ going to kill us…aren't you?" Benerd bleated before following.

The sight that met their eyes as they emerged from the streets into the barnyard was staggering.

Van Helsing and a tremendously large white bat were fighting literally hordes of monsters. The bat was slashing and clawing at the beasts and flinging their carcasses in the face of the advancing hordes. It was making determined headway toward Van Helsing, who, with tojos spinning, was whirling about, meeting charges from all sides while using the incoming monsters to keep a barrier between himself and the vampire. It was evident that the hunter was making sure he stayed beneath the scattered trees or the hanging eaves so that Dracula was forced to stay on the ground. With every monster dispatched by the tojos, blood fountained into the sky before raining down on everything.

Immediately, Carl strafed the land beasts, raking them with fire as Benerd raised his weapon's sights to the sky and began to decimate the flying beasts.

Van Helsing had looked up once to spot the friar and the monk, and a grim smile came to his blood-splattered face. After that he didn't spare another glance their way, though he did slowly force his way through the monsters toward them.

The bat followed as well, his efforts to reach the hunter were now more cautious. When Van Helsing started to get too far away, Dracula snarled loudly and flexed his wings, springing into the air only to have to fight off the monsters already waiting there. He made easy work of them, but his preoccupation allowed Van Helsing the freedom to abandon the limited cover and make his way directly to the friar and monk.

They were within a dozen feet of each other before Van Helsing raised his eyes to Carl's.

"Why are you back here? You were supposed to get to the river."

"I could hardly leave you here!" Carl replied with exasperation. "With him," he added, directing a glare at the vampire before viciously strafing the incoming hordes with more fire. It was having less effect now. Either they were resistant to fire or else the mechanism within the gun was breaking down. He hoped it was the former rather than the later, but in the next instant the gun simply stopped working. He shook it, twice, and then dropped it to his feet before reaching into his pack to extract a glass ball.

"Look out!" he called to his allies, waving the ball, and then threw it into the thick of the monsters.

A large satisfying **_boom_** made them stagger back, then falling debris had them cowering and covering their heads. Van Helsing used that time to close the distance between he and Carl and to increase the gap between them and Dracula.

Seizing both Benerd and Carl, he ran, dragging the two holy men behind him.

"Wh..where…are…we…gggoing?" Carl stuttered as he tripped and was hauled upright only to be shoved along again.

"Someplace defensible," Van Helsing rasped.

"Ddddracula?" Benerd bleated, looking back at the vampire lord who was now fending off the monsters by himself and howling his anger.

"Hopefully monster food—but don't count on it." The hunter didn't bother to look back. He had no doubt that Dracula could look after himself.

They were approaching the small shady porch where the table loaded with Benerd's afternoon repast was still standing. All three men stopped, skidding in the dirt, their horrified eyes fixed upon what was crawling all over the porch.

Slugs. White and monstrously huge, there were hundreds of them and where they crawled, they left smoking, dissolving wood behind them that stunk like carrion.

Carl made a strangled sound and turned away to be violently sick. Listening to him and looking at the slugs, Van Helsing had to swallow hard to avoid joining the friar's retching.

Benerd, oddly, looked at the sight before them with a sort of wide-eyed wonder.

"Marvelous…." He murmured, and then blushed at the incredulous, disgusted wince that Van Helsing directed at him. "Er, I mean…well look at them…."

"I can't help it, they're everywhere. What are they? How do we kill them?"

"_Kill_ them?" Benerd bleated, disbelieving, then flushed again as Van Helsing turned to him with a dark scowl and raised eyebrows. "Oh…yes…it's just that I've never seen anything like them! No mention of anything remotely similar has ever been made. They might be an entirely new species of monster!"

"Fine, you can scrape up what's left of them for study when we're done. Now, how do we kill them!"

Flustered, the monk looked to Carl, hoping for the friar's understanding. Carl had finished his retching and was now woozily standing upright, wiping his red face on his sleeve. And behind Carl were monsters. A lot of them.

Benerd's wide-eyed horror had the hunter whirling and dragging Carl backward before the friar was aware of his danger. He squawked like an outraged chicken, pin wheeling his arms in the vain attempt to catch his balance. The monsters-large grey spiders-followed after. There were several dozen—their bulbous hairy bodies were suspended above the ground on long delicate legs that raised them to the height of the men's knees. Glittering black eyes watched their every movement and as the men backed away, some of the spiders crouched, and then sprang over their heads. Easily landing behind them, the spiders whirled to face the threesome while several darted up into the trees that shaded the porch.

"I.i.is it my iiimagination…or are they drooling?" Carl moaned, watching with fascinated horror as long sticky strands oozed from the prominent mandibles.

"Actually, I think that's venom," Benerd admitted. He stood with his back to the friar and hunter, facing the spiders coming at them from the other direction. The lead arachnid was eyeing him up with an appraising air that made Benerd wish he hadn't had such a hearty lunch.

"Carl, the flame gun?" Van Helsing murmured, his eyes darting from the oncoming spiders to the slugs that seemed to have finally realized they had company. Slugs never move very fast, but the ones approaching were making a concerted effort.

"Dead," the friar squeaked. "It stopped working. I can probably get it working again, with a little time…."

"We don't have a lot of that right now," Van Helsing reminded him wryly. "What else do you have?"

"Er…I have some glycerin."

"Hang onto it," Van Helsing growled, leaning back against the monk. "Benerd. Now or never…how do we kill the slugs?"

"I don't know," the monk whispered back, as if the monsters could hear them. "I suppose they're like any other slug…."

"Any other slug, eh?" Van Helsing said thoughtfully. "All right. Carl, take my tojos."

"Take them? What are _you_ going to be doing?" the friar asked as the weapons were forced into his reluctant hands.

"We need to get to the porch—we're wide open here if those spiders decide to come at us from above."

"Gabriel, the slugs are **_on_** the porch. Oh God, I can't believe we're about to be killed by garden pests!"

"Payment for all the bugs you've stepped on," Van Helsing grinned. "If I move slowly, hopefully the spiders won't attack. If I can get to the porch, I think I've got a way to kill the slugs."

"Gabriel, I might not have mentioned this before—_the slugs are on the porch. _And those that aren't are headed this way. How…."

"You'll see," the hunter promised grimly and suddenly he was gone, moving purposely toward the porch as he plunged his hand into his coat.

The spiders shifted, their legs making rustling noises in the dirt before reorienting on Carl and Benerd.

The slugs were moving with a new purpose, straight at Van Helsing. Revolted, he watched their slimy progress as he extracted his latest find from his coat. Carl really was a genius, and one day he planned to spend a great deal of time thanking the friar.

Aiming the short fat grappling gun at the wall behind the table, he squeezed the trigger. The gun's sharp retort made the spiders crouch and hiss, but he couldn't spare any time for them. The instant he saw the hook contact and sink into the wall, he threw the gun up into a nearby tree. It rattled ominously and a spider appeared in the green foliage, staring down at him through multiple glittering black orbs. He could see himself in each unblinking eye, looking pale beneath a liberal coating of muck and bits. Abruptly, the diameter of the circle of monsters decreased as if the appearance of the monster in the tree had been a signal.

"Gabriel?" Carl whispered as he backed away, the tojos in his hands beginning to whir.

"Hold them off just a little longer," the hunter growled and sprang upwards at the grappling line, hoping the gun had hooked on something strong enough to hold his weight.

The line held and he rapidly began to swing his way toward the porch. Behind him, he felt the line twang and spared a glance backward to be rewarded with the sight of a spider the size of a rottweiler scuttling over the wire after him. The pursuit was bad enough, the fact that the spider's weight was dragging down the line was worse.

The slugs he swung over now were distressingly close. He kept his feet well up but they reared up, apparently sensing his proximity. The closer the spider got, the lower he dropped until he had to swing his feet up to hook them over the wire to keep the slugs from reaching him. They were a solid heaving mass beneath him now.

He was hooking hand over hand, sliding his legs before him as fast as he could go and all the while the spider was getting closer. It was running now, easily balanced, the venom flying out behind it in long attenuated strands. He'd never make it to the porch.

Releasing one hand, he dug into his coat again, finding and cocking the gun before it cleared. The spider was leaping at him when he fired in rapid succession, its body jerked in midair with every bullet. He heard Carl yelling behind him, heard the tojo gun firing but he couldn't look back.

The spider, the queen he presumed, fell down into the heaving white mass below and was quickly covered and reduced to a smoking pile of ooze which the slugs eagerly began to eat.

Fighting down the contents of his stomach, Van Helsing looked back and saw that Carl and Benerd had been backed up, almost into the slugs. The spiders were tensed to spring but were holding back—evidently the loss of their queen had disoriented them.

He began sliding along the wire again, keeping his hips tucked up as he neared the long table. The slugs hadn't destroyed it yet, so once he was over it he dropped down onto the surface with a thud, noisily kicking the platters of food off as he did so.

The slugs were reorienting on him now and were crawling toward the wooden table. He'd seen what they did to wood and had no intention of having the table cut out from under him. He ran over its surface, kicking dishes and bowls out of his way. His goal was in sight when he felt the table shudder then collapse at one end, dropping him to his face and sending the remaining dishes hurtling down on top of him. He managed to throw out one hand to snag the object he had come for as it slid toward him.

Then he was sliding toward the end of the table and the awaiting slugs. Van Helsing dug his hand into the bowl he held, seizing a handful of its contents and flinging it out over the slugs waiting for him.

It hit the white undulating mass with a hiss that rapidly became a scream sounding like steam escaping from a tea kettle. The slugs were melting, dissolving into a pile of gelatinous goo, and as they touched other slugs, those melted as well. He jammed his heels into the table and managed to slow the velocity of his slide as he hurled several more handfuls about the porch. Everywhere, the slugs were melting. When he finally slid off the end of the table and into the ooze, he was grateful that it didn't dissolve his boots. He continued to grab handfuls from the bowl he carried, throwing it about him as if he were sowing seed. He threw it far out as he walked back to the churchmen, as far as it would go, especially toward Carl and Benerd.

Rapidly, the ooze spread toward the friar and monk so that, when the spiders moved on them and they had to step back, it was into the harmless remains of the slugs. They quickly backed away from the spiders that didn't follow. Van Helsing met them half way and pulled them back to the safety of the porch.

"Why aren't they chasing us?" Carl panted and Benerd shrugged.

"I'm guessing they saw the queen die and it hasn't dawned on them yet that the slugs are no longer dangerous."

"While they're trying to figure it out, let's think of a way to kill **_them_**," Van Helsing grimly reminded the two men.

"How did you kill the slugs?" Carl asked, blinking at the large empty bowl that now rolled on the ground between them and the spiders.

The hunter grinned at him as he clapped Benerd's shoulder. "I did what Benerd told me to do."

"What I _told_ you…but..I didn't say anything! I didn't even **_want_** to kill them!" The last was a wail as the monk looked about the piles of oozing slime with true regret.

"Hmph, better luck next time," the hunter clucked with a marked lack of sympathy. To Carl, he shrugged. "Salt. When Benerd said that they were probably like any other slug, I remembered you salting the slugs on the Pope's roses."

"Salt!" Carl clapped a hand to his forehead. "Of course!"

"So, what works on spiders?" Van Helsing asked, pointing out the arachnids that had begun to gingerly step onto the ooze.

"Oh…well, now that we have some distance, the glycerin should work," Carl said and fished a 'grenade' from his pack.

"How many of those do you have?" Van Helsing asked, eyeing it speculatively.

"About a half dozen…give or take one. Why?"

"Dracula," the hunter reminded him grimly.

Carl gave his friend an uneasy half smile as he nodded. "Yes, I can see what you mean. All right…two should do the trick, and we'll have the rest to dissuade Dracula with."

"It would work better if we could catch them from two angles," Benerd mused, his eyes speculatively sizing up the swarm before him. "We want to make sure to kill them, rather than scattering them."

"Good point." Van Helsing stepped off the food-strewn platform, and then looked above them at the roof of the porch and the roofs of the buildings bracketing it. "I think I can jump to the next rooftop. Carl can climb up to the other if he gets a head start from the porch, while you remain on the ground with the gun. We can catch them in a three-way fire if we're lucky."

Benerd nodded thoughtfully. "Yeeess…that'll work. But what about Dracula? Won't you and Carl be sitting targets when you're up on the roof?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Van Helsing said dourly. "Are we ready?"

The two holy men agreed, with reservations. Van Helsing helped boost Carl up onto the porch roof, holding his breath when it wobbled beneath the friar's weight. The slugs' secretions had compromised the wooden posts that supported the roof; Carl had to move slowly and carefully to the sloping eaves of the next building, only breathing a sigh of relief once he'd hoisted himself onto it.

Van Helsing pulled himself up next, grimacing when the porch groaned alarmingly.

"It's your coat…drop your coat!" Carl called.

"What about Dracula?" the hunter asked, hesitating as he balanced on the now swaying roof.

"I don't think he wears the same size! Now drop it!" Carl gestured vehemently then yelped as he almost lost his balance on the pitched roof and rolled to the ground.

Seeing the friar's near fall and fearing what he might do next in his anxiety, the hunter slid out of his coat, allowing it to drop to the monk below who promptly fell to the ground beneath it.

"Sorry..sorry! Just tired," Benerd panted as he shoved the heavy, weapon-filled garment off him to stand once again.

Van Helsing made no reply. The spiders were now entering the ooze with speed and were approaching the porch in earnest. With careful footsteps, Van Helsing navigated the swaying roof, launching himself at the adjoining rooftop from several feet away. Once on the solid surface, he easily scrambled upwards until he was over the spider swarm with Carl across the way. That's when the friar got an odd expression on his flushed face.

"Er…Gabriel? I think we forgot something…." Carl shouted and waved his hand. The grey light picked up the reflective surface of the glycerin ball, sending pinpoints of light over the ground and the friar's front. The friar still had them—all of them.

Van Helsing groaned and slapped a hand to his face. He was tired, sore, and gooey, and now apparently '_dense as a post_' could be added to that list. Resignedly, he waved a hand in a vaguely circular motion at Carl.

"Throw one to Benerd. He can throw it to me then."

"What!" Benerd wailed. "**Nonononononono**! Not a good idea! I can't catch—oh trust me on this! I can barely catch a _cold_, let alone that little thing!"

"Would you rather be covered in ravenous spiders?" Van Helsing pointed out helpfully and watched the monk blanch white. "Just keep your eye on it. Carl, pitch it to him soft and slow."

It occurred to Carl that mentioning the grenade's highly unstable nature would probably not be a comfort to the sweating monk, so he only nodded and moved back to the roof edge. From that position, there was only twelve feet or so between them.

"Ready?"

"No!" Benerd gulped but raised his hands cupped before him as if he thought Carl would lob the ball into them.

Van Helsing shook his head and raised his eyes skyward in a prayer. That's when he saw the large white wings against the grey sky.

"Carl…hurry!" he called and gestured. Carl looked up once, made a small squeaking noise, and tossed the ball.

The glass globe seemed to float in the sky, turning, casting a rainbow of light over the ground and the spiders now running toward Benerd; then it descended, straight down, onto the pitched roof of the porch.

The men stared at it, gape mouthed, then Van Helsing dived, yelling, "Get down!"

Benerd and Carl fell on their faces as the ball rolled, picking up speed, and was launched from the slope of the porch roof out over the ground. It detonated thunderously. The air was filled with flying debris, spider carcasses and ooze, which rained down on everything.

Benerd rolled on the ground, raising his fouled gun to begin firing on the remaining spiders, mowing them down with the spinning tojos. Carl staggered over the roof, pausing to throw another grenade before dropping. Another explosion and more flying debris rained down on them.

Van Helsing lifted his eyes to the sky, cursing when he didn't see the white wings.

"Carl! Climb down! I don't see Dracula any more!"

The frazzeled figure on the opposite roof waved feebly and dropped down onto his belly, crawling along until he reached the end of the roof.

There were no more spiders visible below, so Carl slid sideways, allowing his hips to ease off first and dangle before the rest of his body followed. He landed in the pockmarked yard warily, his eyes searching for any sign of movement.

He heard the hunter moving on the roof opposite. Gabriel's rooftop was higher; he would need to jump to the porch roof before trying for the ground. Considering the stability of the porch, it was even money if it wasn't safer just to take his chances dropping down from the higher elevation.

Benerd trotted up to Carl to help him up, and then both men moved to the porch to brace the supports.

Van Helsing was running along the slope of the rooftop, his arms outstretched from the shoulder to give him balance. The porch was in sight now and he leaped for it.

Carl cried out as the hunter sailed into the air; knowing the porch would give way beneath him, the friar grasped Benerd's arms and dragged him away from the tottering structure, shoving him hard to one side. An instant later, the porch and a portion of the adjoining house's wall gave way, spilling the hunter and tons of wood and shingle down into the yard.

The noise was incredible and the dust raised was a choking cloud. Carl batted at it as he stumbled into the cloud, feeling about for Van Helsing. It was sheer luck that he stumbled over the still form. Kneeling down, he ran his hands over Van Helsing's body and groaned as he felt the hot thick flow of blood. Carefully he traced it to the hunter's shoulder and a long wooden spar that impaled it from beneath. The narrow piece of wood rose over them by at least five feet; evidently, Van Helsing had fallen onto it and continued to slide down it. He was lucky that he hadn't been killed—as it was he would die of blood shortage very quickly if Carl didn't find some way to free him.

He cast about futilely, hearing the crunch of debris behind him signaling the monk's arrival.

"Benerd, can you use the tojo gun to cut this? Be very careful…."

In answer to Carl's request, a large clawed hand came down to grip the wooden spar, twisting it so that it broke with a report like gun power. The splintered shard, three feet of it, was tossed aside like a twig. Carl scrabbled to his feet as the hand returned to easily pull Van Helsing up off the jagged end that remained. The friar looked up at the bat that blinked at him with the pleased air of a cat as he held the limp body of the hunter. Almost negligently, the vampire dropped the hunter's body onto the wreckage, letting it roll bonelessly to finally rest at the vampire's feet.

Carl moved to help the hunter, heedless of the watching vampire lord, only to be reminded when Dracula seized his arm and pulled Carl to his feet. Looking up at the vampire, Carl grit his teeth until he thought they would shatter as he backed as far away as Dracula would permit. "Benerd…the tojo gun…."

The monk didn't answer him. Carl dragged his eyes from the vampire standing between him and the man he cared about more than anything else in the world to look toward the monk.

Benerd stood very still, his round blue eyes upon Carl were both pleading and cautioning.

From behind the monk, a figure appeared, dropping the tojo gun with distaste before clapping his hand on the monk's shoulder.

Paul looked up at Carl, meeting the friar's stunned gaze with a grim frown.

"I have waited long enough."

TBC


	12. Blood Wars Part 12

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek" 

**Summary: The first face-to-face meeting of Paul and Dracula, Mavis' coven takes shape**

**Note**: Hopefully, **Countess Verona** **Dracula** will check me on this! German '_wildfang_' is loosely translated to wretch or wretch of a boy; '_ein_ _arger dummkopf'—_an absolute dunce; '_liebling_'—beloved. '_Thank you_' to **Chibi-Kaz** for the explanation of the material used in the friar's robe. It came in handy below!

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Chibi-Kaz, ****Kuruna Icefire, ****Nikoru Sanzo, ****Gnomey, ****Iblis, ****Jania, ****Countess Verona Dracula, ****Curious Dream Weaver, ****Luthien**

_**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 12**

It has come to this, this confused feeling of adoration and hatred within my soul. My Carl is before me, with such an odd expression upon his face. He doesn't know if I am to be his savior or his punisher. My little dove (he would hate that name, but it does fit him) who is better suited to be sleeping in the pews during Mass is now here in Hell between me and the devil himself. I can see the color drain from his beautiful face, leaving his eyes stark within an alabaster mask. He's cut off from those that clung to him, calling him 'friend' while sucking his life from him at the same time. Now he has only me, and my feelings for him are in turmoil. I want to hate him…to despise what he has allowed himself to do with the beast while tossing my love that would have sanctified him, to the side.

The vampire lord holds me a captive as well while he holds my Carl by one arm; his demon eyes fill my thoughts with the cool darkness of night and its corrupting sensuousness. This is the vampire's 'glamour' I have heard about. It **_is_** compelling. But not as Dracula would believe it to be—my need grows, but it's still reserved for Carl. I would have been very pleased to never have felt love for this churchman. As it is, I can feel nothing else now. The hate I felt, the anger at his giving himself to the beast dissipates quickly at the sight of him, leaving me weak and ashamed for my spirit's vacillation.

The fat monk stands beside me, still watching my Carl…I can smell his fear on him like a greasy sweat upon his skin. I wonder, who is he is afraid for—himself or Carl? I'm hardly aware of thrusting him from me until I hear his clattering, groaning descent to the muck below. He plays no part in what will follow. The vampire holds the keys to my existence, Carl within his grasp and Van Helsing at his feet. I want them both.

A brief blurring settles over the bat and then clears to reveal a handsome man. I recognize the blurring—it's a demon's trick, to cloud the mind for a short or long period. It allows the vampire to seemingly move so quickly without being seen. They cloud the mind so that time passes without our being aware of it. We sleep, in a fugue state, while they stand before us as boldly as Original Sin. When **_they_** chose, then we behold them, when our knowledge of time resumes once again.

The vampire lord—Dracula-is the master of them all. His was the original gift of unnatural life; the other vampires that followed were to be his legion. Yet here he stands now, his army cast down. At his feet now lies the cause of his languishment as well as the source of mine. What will Dracula do? As much as it would please me to see Van Helsing turned to the dark, to become a pitiful mewling sycophantic follower of this Hell spawn, I know that it would not be enough. Not nearly enough. I need his pain-to cause it, to drink it down like a fine rich wine, like a lover drinks the pleasure of his partner. I need and want them both-Van Helsing for my past and Carl for my future.

Dracula's eyes pierce my mind and soul, upon his lips is the smile of indulgence. He doesn't know me if he believes himself my match.

"Release them to me."

The vampire lord merely presses his lips together in a thoughtful pout as he steps over the hunter's body to press himself against Carl's back. I can feel my body tense, prepared to stop the demon if he attempts to kill Carl. I will protect him.

…

Carl shuddered as the Count pressed against his back, his face aligned with the friar's as he whispered into Carl's ear.

"Shall I gratify his desires? Shall I give you both to him?"

"You could," Carl admitted, even as he internally quaked at the thought. They were caught between the devil and deep sea and he wasn't sure which was worse. If Paul claimed them, he was certain that Van Helsing would suffer extraordinarily unless he could prevent the cambion from taking his revenge. On the other hand, what would be the hunter's fate if Dracula took him? The violence of their dream had been bad enough, would the Count have more self-control in the flesh than he did in the dreams he generated? Even if he did, why would he feel compelled to exercise it? Cannily, Carl half turned to the vampire. "Why are you here in the first place? To simply keep Paul's place warm? If you meant to give Gabriel to him, why go to all the trouble of trying to capture him?"

The vampire appeared displeased with Carl's logic. The friar wondered if Dracula's desires were as murky to him as to those who watched. Suddenly, Carl was free as the vampire lord thrust him aside and turned back to the hunter, stalking over the wreckage to stare down at the unconscious man with a contemplative expression upon his face. When he spoke, it was a murmur, reminiscent of the ramblings of a man who argues with himself.

"Why would Van Helsing chose you? A meek, effacing boy in sackcloth?"

A jolt of anger ran through the friar. He was getting very tired of having his relationship with Van Helsing questioned. He wanted to check the hunter, to verify that he was safe and healing. Failing that, he fell back on the less desirable but more efficient expedient of drawing any unpleasantness upon himself, hoping the hunter would be overlooked. With that in mind, he chose to answer the vampire's musings as if they had been directed to himself.

"I..I'm sure I don't know…. Perhaps he doesn't have a taste for walking corpses?"

The vampire frowned, as if seriously weighing the words, then, "Perhaps you are correct. It has been a while since Gabriel and I were together. Once, he could not bear to leave my side. Perhaps, once I stir his memories, it will be that way again?"

"If he couldn't bear to leave your side, why did he kill you? I don't recall your stuffed and mounted body on his mantle as a fond keepsake."

The vampire's darkened eyes rose to Carl's with a sardonic gleam in them. His nostrils flared as if he scented the reckless anger that boiled within Carl's blood.

"Still, it _is_ my ring that he wears, even knowing its origin. Tell me, little friar, does the metal of it feel cold against your skin when he strokes your flesh? As it once felt cold against his?"

Carl took two stumbling steps toward the vampire, his normal wariness submerging beneath unwise jealousy. "You're lying! He's never been in your bed, and he would never willingly go now!"

Dracula chuckled as he surveyed Carl with pleasure. "Your preoccupation with carnality betrays you, little friar. I have never said I took Gabriel to my bed."

"You've all but shouted it from the rooftops!" Carl growled as he turned his gaze away from the Count.

"Think back," Dracula encouraged the friar silkily. "I do not think you will find that I have said any such thing. Your distrust of your lover is interesting."

Turning from Carl once again, the vampire looked down at Van Helsing, an oddly wistful expression appearing on his face. "_Once_, we were close. Our lives were rich with the exhilaration of outwitting death. I remember the thunder of our horses' hooves upon the ground and the sting of the dawn air flaying our skin raw. And then, the battlefield with its music of Damascene steel and death singing in our ears and heating our blood. The battlefield was the meeting ground of the Brethren of the sword, as much to be treasured as any relation by blood—perhaps more so. I can still feel the heavy armor wrapped like a lover's arms about me while I took my pleasure in trading blows with my brothers—always just a little faster, a little stronger. Until-of course, the day came I was not fast enough. Such was life."

The vampire shrugged. "I think, little friar, that my Gabriel chose you because you don't have the strength to turn from him, as he once did me. For that benefit, he will bestow his love upon you. Be careful of it, it is addictive and unforgiving."

Carl didn't answer; the gaze he turned upon the vampire was thoughtful as he turned the Count's words over in his head. He found himself oddly inclined to pity the man Dracula had been, though he was well aware of his bloody history.

Paul stirred impatiently behind them, debris crunched beneath his footfalls as he approached.

"Enough; you waste my time, vampire. I will take them both now."

Dracula roused from his dark memories with a snort.

"Will you? By all means, do so then!" Crossing his arms over his chest, Dracula gestured to the fallen hunter with his chin. "Steal your revenge."

"No!" Carl cried, moving to intercept Paul only to find that he couldn't reach the man. A shimmer, like a haze of heat, surrounded Paul, gently repelling the friar's contact. Carl blinked at the obstruction, his initial fear of it rapidly giving way to hope as he observed Paul's reaction to it. Judging by the cambion's snarl and the flush of rage upon his skin, it was as unexpected to him as it had been to Carl.

"What did you do?" Paul howled at the vampire. Dracula shrugged, unfolding his arms to gently tap a finger against the thin air before himself—it sparked.

"If you would have the pleasure of collecting enemies, you should be better prepared for their arrival," the vampire purred with dripping scorn.

Carl blinked, looking from one demon to the other. Then he turned and scrambled over the wreckage toward Van Helsing. Dropping to his knees, he felt for the hunter's pulse and found it distressingly weak.

"Gabriel?" Gently, he turned the man over, wincing at the pallor of his skin and the chill that had replaced the familiar heat of his body.

"Hmph…perhaps it is Gabriel's stuffed and mounted body that will adorn _your_ mantle?" Dracula suggested to Carl, and then shrugged as he glanced at the cambion, watching them with trembling rage. "But not today, I think. A pity for us both."

The vampire lord turned away and strode over the wreckage to solid ground. Once he stood upon the steady pock-marked earth, he paused, and then turned back to Carl.

"Gabriel…why did he chose you? For your gentleness? The fact that you are not a warrior? I don't believe he would base it solely upon your looks or your sheep-like adoration. Still, he has buried himself within a church filled with such sheep—perhaps his tastes have changed. If a man is starving, he does not insist upon red meat when bread is presented."

With a slight mocking bow, the Count turned away, his body already morphing into the shape of the bat. A second later, he was gone, leaving only the fading thunder of his flight thrumming in the air.

Paul remained, his hands pressed against the barrier that sparkled between himself and the other two men. He pushed against it with all of his strength for several seconds before finally snatching his hands away with a snarl. Carl could see his palms were blistered and red. He had no idea what form of barrier now protected them; he could only breathe a prayer of thanks for it.

Paul's gaze upon Carl was one of angry, lustful adoration as he slowly backed away. Once he stood on solid ground again, he looked about the decimated yard thoughtfully, then called out to the emptiness.

"Where are you? Why do you hide? You've won this round; I will leave him this time, but I want to see your face."

Carl looked up at the cambion, then followed his line of vision, his mouth falling open as a dark fog appeared from the ground, rising up to then disgorge, one by one, silent figures encircling them. They were quiet, pale men and women with dark eyes and hair. Their bodies were shrouded in dark clothing that hid their hands and feet. Each stood motionless and they all looked at Paul with silent purposeful intent.

The last to appear was Mavis, walking up over the crest of the wreckage.

"I knew it was you!" Paul spat. "What have you done?"

"We have stopped you." She spoke without her usual acerbity, a regretful certainty colored her expression and words now.

"Why! You know better than any alive what I have suffered! Why do you deny me the one thing that would make my existence bearable?"

"Because your existence is based upon evil and it will not be allowed to run its course." Mavis gestured at the dark silent figures about her. "You knew this would happen when I came here. I warned you from the start. Now we will contain you."

"No! NO!" Paul screamed and spittle flew from his mouth to impact the invisible barrier.

"You will be forced back, to the place you have made for yourself in Hell, to await our coming. I cannot stop the battle, but we will make the field for it level. You will not be allowed to come to us again."

"You can't do this! You don't have the ability to chain me!"

Mavis seemed to rouse herself from her sorrow for the moment and a touch of causticity entered her tone. "Who better to contain you than your own blood? You think you sprang from air with your gifts intact? Did I give birth to _ein_ _arger dummkopf?_ You came from generations of such gifts, Stephan, and now those generations have come to stop you. You will go and wait for us, _wildfang_. Use the time to think carefully how you will greet us when we meet again."

Mavis turned away from Paul without another word—plainly, she had exhausted her reserve of patience. Carl stared open-mouthed as the cambion, shrieking his anger, was consumed by the dark fog that had brought the other witches. When it dissipated, he was gone.

Mavis met Carl's gaze steadily, then shrugged. "Ja…we will have a few things to talk about. Now, let us get your _liebling_ inside, where we may look after him."

"Er…alright…." Carl stood, backing away hesitantly from Van Helsing as the silent men and women converged upon the hunter, lifting him in their arms.

Mavis led the way, followed by her coven. Carl held back from following to scramble over the planks and loose shingles to where Benerd now sat with wide eyes and gaping mouth.

"Are you alright?" Carl gasped as he ran his eyes over the monk for signs of injury.

"I think my mind is unhinged," the monk replied as he turned his troubled gaze on Carl. "I'm fairly sure that I'm seeing things."

"Ah…what kinds of things? Witches appearing out of the ground? Dracula flying off without so much as a tooth full of blood? Or Paul disappearing into thin air?"

Benerd blinked, seeming to consider Carl's words carefully before replying. "All of them."

"Oh. What a relief! I thought I was going stark staring bonko all by myself!"

* * *

Carl and Benerd stood well to the back of the room where they laid Van Helsing down. Mavis' fussing over him, her mumbled ramblings occasionally escalating so that they could hear such words as 'pig-headed' leant a comforting familiarity to the surreal surroundings. The other witches did as she asked helping and fetching as needed. They didn't speak, but their silence now seemed more an act of courtesy to Mavis' ponderings than the quietude of the sepulcher. 

Carl wondered if his imagination was running away with him, then looking at the dark quiet figures that he had seen spring from nothing, he decided that his imagination was entitled to all the running room it needed. There was no doubt at all within his mind, Mavis' coven was made up of the dead.

Mavis had the hunter's upper torso efficiently stripped and then with a sigh and a long string of German which Carl suspected were curses, she began to clean and stitch the wound. She used a poultice which Carl wasn't familiar with—he would have liked to ask but couldn't bring himself to break her concentration. She made a thin paste of it which she placed directly into the wound before she began to stitch, and then ladled the rest onto the scar before covering it with bandages wound about his chest and shoulder.

Carl felt an urgent need to be tending to Van Helsing himself, as he always had in the past. It was so very hard to stand back, to be still and useless. As time passed, the feeling grew-when he thought he'd burst from it, he felt Benerd's fingers touch then curl about his own at their sides, squeezing gently. Gratefully, he returned the pressure and settled back on his heels again to wait. Doing so, he had an odd sudden vision of Jinette. He hadn't thought of the Cardinal in all this time, now he pictured the man pacing in his office and feeling, perhaps, as helpless and useless as Carl. He wished he could reassure the prelate that they were all still alive, still safe.

"He has dreams," Mavis spoke to Carl for the first time, raising her eyes to the friar's so that he would know it was to him she addressed her comments.

He blinked, still confused. "Gabriel has dreams?"

"_Nein_. Your Cardinal. He dreams of us here, sees what we do in his dreams. They comfort him some-if he were not so pig-headed obstinate they would comfort him a great deal more.

"Obstinate? Ahh…Mavis…," Carl glanced at Benerd for support before turning back to the witch. "How did you know I was thinking of Cardinal Jinette?"

"Hmph. We have been together for months and you're surprised I can guess what you're occasionally thinking?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose that makes sense. But I'm still confused about the dreams. What kind of dreams? And how do you know about them?

The witch shrugged as she finished bandaging the hunter, her fingers smoothing the linen of the bandages carefully. "I know because I have the sight. I know, also, because he told me."

"Cardinal Jinette told you? How would he…."

Mavis' eyes rose to his with a snapping sparkle in them that struck Carl dumb. He shut his gaping mouth and instead waited. The witch appeared to appreciate his patience because she nodded and a small smile quirked the corners of her mouth. She stepped back from the table they had the hunter laid upon and allowed her silent coven to redress him, then to carry him from the room back into the sunlight. Carl would have followed, but she laid a firm hand upon his and Benerd's arms.

"_Nein_. He will be fine. They will return him to the bedroom he chose for himself earlier. Now we will talk." She led them over to a long bench placed against the wall in the still room.

"I..I'd rather be with Gabriel…just to see he's all right…," Carl ventured, then winced as the witch's eyebrow ascended. Oh Lord, not the eyebrow! He reluctantly settled himself beside the witch while Benerd sat on her other side, his gaze commiserating.

Mavis wasted no time letting him know exactly what she thought. "Such a surprise that you would want to be with him! You think I don't know this? He is doing what he needs to do—resting. You need to be thinking—leave the resting to him."

Carl flushed hotly, ducking his head slightly. Mavis bit her lip as she looked at Carl's unhappy face and made a small clucking sound as she patted his arm.

"Ja, I am too hard on you. I am sorry. We will finish up here soon enough and then you may go and be with him."

"All right," Carl sighed, and then directed a small contrite smile at the witch. "I suppose I am acting a little needy right now."

Mavis shrugged. "Who is to say 'needy' is bad? When the timing is right, it will comfort you both. So, we finish what must be done, now. You asked of dreams. Your Gabriel told me of them—he didn't know he was sending them to your Cardinal, only that he, too, was concerned for the man and wanted to comfort him."

"_Gabriel_ is sending dreams? Like Dracula and Paul?" Carl exclaimed as Benerd echoed his surprise as well.

"Not the same dreams, not the same type," Mavis clarified carefully. "But he is able, on occasion, to go in his dreams to where he would wish to go. He doesn't yet realize they are real or that he directs them."

"But how?" Benerd began, and then paused as an odd expression came onto his face. "Oh."

"Oh?" Carl echoed, his gaze darting from monk to witch. "I don't care for the sound of that…what's 'oh'?"

"Er…," Benerd flushed, then murmured, "the **_taint_**."

"Ja, the **_taint_**. And such a silly word 'taint'! You mutter it as if it were a curse word," the witch reproved the monk, frowning at his wide-eyed surprise. "What, this surprises you that I don't shrink and wring my hands with horror over this 'taint'? You think I should condemn Mr. Left Hand of God for a little vampire blood…a little werewolf venom that runs about within him by no fault of his own? Better you mutter the word 'taint' and cross yourself when you speak of the Inquisition or the venom of hatred that runs through your church…."

Carl felt his heart turn within his chest as he watched the witch gather herself and fall silent, her thin hands twisted in her skirt as if, in containing them, she would contain her own anger. Benerd cast a glance at Carl; the small imperceptible nod that passed between them assured the friar the monk held no ill-will at Mavis' outburst.

Carefully, Carl settled his calloused warm hands over Mavis', squeezing lightly, as Benerd rubbed and patted her shoulder.

"Mavis," Carl began as he sympathetically viewed the witch's uncharacteristically lowered face. "It's all right. I understand and so does Benerd. What the Inquisition has done to so many _is_ horrifying. Just because we're religious doesn't mean we support the Inquisition."

Mavis nodded, her hands turning in her lap to catch and hold Carl's. Thoughtfully, she squeezed his fingers, and then nodded again.

"Ja, this I know."

"You're upset. I think I understand why, though I'm not sure how you managed to hold it inside of you for so long. Why didn't you tell us that Paul was your son?"

"It would have made no difference in what had to be done," the witch answered quietly.

"But, he's your _son_," Benerd protested. "How can you bear the thought of what has to happen?"

Mavis' dark eyes rose to Benerd's. "If I am here, or if I am not, it will be done. I could not protect him when he was small—because of that he is what he is. So, I will give him my love now. The Stephan I gave birth to would not want the life this Paul has now. In settling with Paul, I will finally give Stephan the peace he deserves."

"Oh Mavis," Carl breathed and dropped his head upon her shoulder. He felt her body stiffen slightly, and then relax; her head dropped a little to the side, just enough to allow her to rest her cheek briefly upon Carl's soft hair as her fingers stroked the warm skin of his hands. Then she patted his hands before releasing them, drawing herself once more erect.

"It is good. Thank you." She nodded to the friar and monk with a smile. "You cannot erase a lifetime of regret—this is enough to make it lighter. So, now I will address your second question, ja?"

"Second…oh! The coven!" Carl exclaimed as he settled himself once more, upright and attentive on the bench they sat on.

Mavis chuckled darkly as she considered Carl. "The coven," she repeated, and then shrugged. "That is a good enough term for it, I suppose. They will hold Paul bound while we journey to him. He will not be able to come upon us unawares again."

"How? How could they do that?" Carl asked.

"And if they can do that, why can't they…er…well, take _care_ of the matter?" Benerd asked, his voice taking on an apologetic note.

The witch's mouth quirked in a sardonic arch. "_How_ they can do it is because Paul is a demon and they are witches well-versed in containing demons. As to 'taking care of the matter', why should they do this? It isn't their place to do such a thing. That is why we are here, because it _is_ our place and our choice."

"But if they're good witches, shouldn't they be willing to help?" Benerd protested, then yelped as the witch's strong hand rose to catch his face, holding it so that his pudgy cheeks pressed inwards and his puckered mouth opened and closed like a fish's.

"Good witches? You speak like a child—'give me what I want and I will love you. Don't and I will be angry and hate you'. They are _here_; they help us when we need succor. Do not sit and judge them on what they will and won't do, just be grateful for the help we have been given."

She released Benerd's face, giving it a small pat as she shook her head and tsked over him. The monk had the good grace to look embarrassed and repentant.

"So, they'll hold Paul so he can't come to us. That means he also can't avoid us. We know where he is now?" Carl ventured and Mavis left off her thoughtful gaze upon the monk to nod.

"Ja. We know where he will be. There will be no surprises."

Carl nodded as well, and dropped his gaze to the floor as he swung his feet. "That's good," he murmured, then cleared his throat. "Ahem….Well…I don't think I have any more questions…."

Mavis snorted. "Ja, I can see you squirming there. All right, go to your hunter. He will be weak so take care to be gentle."

Carl blushed at the witch's knowing gaze, but he wasted no time in leaving the room at high speed, on his way to Van Helsing with a shout.

* * *

Carl slid into the hunter's bed gratefully; his arms moving about and under Van Helsing's body brought him a wonderful relief as he felt the familiar heat of the man's skin. He was careful to settle against the hunter's uninjured side and even then to be gentle as Mavis had suggested. 

In the dim light of the flickering candles set about the room, Carl could see Van Helsing's eyelashes lay in a soft dark fan upon his skin-beneath his closed eyelids, Carl watched the movement of the hunter's eyes and wondered if he dreamed and if he did, were they gentle dreams.

He watched the hunter's mouth, parted, the flash of moisture on his tongue within making Carl's mouth water in return. It struck the friar that he seemed to be kissing Van Helsing awake quite often these days. The thought made him smile as he likened himself to the prince kissing the…er…probably best **_not_** to go there, even in his private thoughts. Gabriel had a habit of being able to read him like a book, and that particular fairy tale ending might not appeal to the hunter.

His gaze dropped further down, to the strong throat and the soft flicker of the pulse within it. He allowed himself to carefully stroke it, his touch purposefully light to avoid waking the sleeping man. In his mind's eye, he viewed the warm flesh and the pulse of blood contained beneath it as he imagined Dracula might. A tendril of desire curled within the friar, and he indulged it, leaning in to kiss and then lick the pulse of life. He felt it throb beneath his tongue and shivered as he settled himself against Van Helsing and pressed his mouth more firmly against his throat. He remembered the way Van Helsing had held him, when they had made love the previous night. It had excited him shamelessly—he wondered, with a blush now, if Gabriel had been able to scent his heart-stopping pleasure in the act of being so completely possessed? What would it feel like to possess someone so completely?

He suckled at the warm flesh beneath his mouth, pulling at it harder now, feeling his own skin and muscles burn with pleasure when he thought about marking the hunter.

Would Van Helsing have hesitated? Was Dracula right? Had Gabriel selected him because he was so pliant? He felt his teeth bear down on the flesh in his mouth without his meaning to, and blinked in shock as he tasted the coppery rich blood of the bite seep into his mouth. Horrified, he pulled back, eyeing the tiny wound with the eyes of guilt that made it a veritable gory chasm.

"Go ahead," the soft deep voice above him made the friar start, his eyes darting up guiltily to meet Van Helsing's.

"W…what?" Carl stuttered, licking his lips as if to remove any incriminating traces of the warm red fluid only to have his eyes flutter closed as his body gave a strong shudder of arousal. It was with difficulty that he mastered the urge to groan, finally opening his eyes with the panting wheeze of a man who has run a very long race.

Van Helsing met his eyes with humor glinting in them.

"Better?"

"Manageable," Carl admitted, blushing hotly. "I…after everything…I was just…."

"Curious?" Van Helsing murmured, then nodded, prompting Carl's own hesitant nod in return.

"You…when you held my throat last night…in your mouth. There was a small cut on my skin today."

The hunter sighed then, his eyes dropping as he nodded again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about it—planning it. I needed…."

The friar cleared his throat, meeting the hunter's eyes with a smile when they rose to his. "I know. Did you…did you drink my blood?"

"Yes. Not like Dracula…"

"No! Not like Dracula," Carl agreed quickly. He considered the image within his mind and the arousal it sent thrumming through his body. "Er…was it…did I taste…good?"

A soft snort answered him and the solidity against him shifted, turning toward him slightly, making the thin mattress dip so that he settled into the warm hollow left behind. "Yes. You tasted very good."

"Oh!" Carl's reply was more of a peep of sound than an actual vocalization, but Van Helsing smiled just the same.

"So, you were _curious_ again?"

Another peep was his only answer, along with the soft sound of Carl licking his lips unconsciously. It struck Van Helsing at that moment that Carl's curiosity had propelled their relationship to every new plateau it had reached thus far. It had become something he expected and relied upon now.

"Go ahead, then," the hunter murmured, smiling at the friar. He stirred, his arm going about Carl, pulling his mate close as he turned his head slightly, presenting his throat and the small bite wound on it to Carl.

"Gabriel?" Carl whispered. His eyes fixed on the scarlet mark made by his teeth and he thrust down the traitorous pleasure in the possibility that it would make a tiny scar.

"Carl, you're curious. Go ahead. I promise you, I'll enjoy it."

"Enjoy it? Gabriel, you'd enjoy my drinking…?"

"Carl, it's not a gaping wound and you're not a vampire. Yes, I'll enjoy feeling your mouth on my neck, sucking, knowing you're tasting my blood. I think it's part of having the taint…I understand the pleasure in it now."

A feeling of separateness made Carl blink and frown. Gabriel spoke of something, a feeling, which he might never be able to share. It was a part of the hunter now—something he shared more with Dracula than his lover. The thought of the vampire lord served to resolve Carl's hesitancy more quickly than Van Helsing's reassurances.

With a sigh, he settled back into the warmth of Van Helsing's shoulder and neck, trailing soft kisses over the smooth skin with pleasure. The course of his mouth led him inexorably back to the small wound. It had closed, the tiny drop of dried blood sealing it tasted oddly stale to his tongue. Gently, he licked at the wound, shivering slightly with the feeling of the warm skin beneath his mouth moving against his tongue. When his teeth nipped sharply, he felt Van Helsing shiver; seeping from the small wound, droplets of hot blood again caressed Carl's tongue.

Closing his eyes, Carl pressed his lips to the small cut and suckled the rich burgundy fluid of life with a pleasure that made him feel more alive than he had ever remembered feeling before.

Van Helsing's uninjured arm moved about him, pulling Carl close as the hunter's eyes closed and his breath emerged as a small groan of pleasure. He urged Carl to slide on top of him, his body's reaction to the friar's sinking between his legs an emphatic approval of the situation.

A soft growl of pleasure rumbled in Carl's chest as he felt Van Helsing prepare them, then an incredible bliss tore at his mind and soul as they joined again-this time it was Carl who claimed his mate.

It was close and dark and languid, consuming them utterly as they clung to one another, Carl's mouth always at Gabriel's throat as he moved over his lover.

When they reached the peak of their exultation, Carl lifted his mouth from the small wound to place his mouth against Van Helsing's, pressing his tongue deeply inside, sharing the final gift.

They held one another afterwards, their arms hard about each other in a firm promise.

tbc


	13. Blood Wars Part 13

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: Van Helsing's history with Dracula**

Notes: I hope this isn't too dry. It's necessary to clarify their history and to establish what dreaming is capable of doing.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Nikoru Sanzo**, **Mithril Maiden, ****Kuruna IceFire, ****Countess Verona Dracula, ****Iblis**_  
**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**

* * *

****Blood Wars 13**

_The dream started like it had so many times before. He was on a battlefield, surrounded by the sounds of war, his muscles trembling with the ache and wild exhilaration of pitting his sword against his foes. He felt the heat and strength of the horse beneath him, whirling and lashing out with hooves and teeth, carrying him rapidly over the red-stained ground to the next foe, the next battle._

_He recognized the field of battle before him with a sense of familiarity that went down to the bone, into his very soul. He had been fighting for a long time against evil, but he had very little confidence that justice and good triumphed over it on a regular basis. His efforts only held evil at bay for a time. Still, that was enough. He had never settled for half of what he was capable of, never bargained nor made a pact for less than all. Sometimes, he was forced to retrench when even his best efforts could not win the victory. He found peace within himself by accepting the battle was not the war and sometimes the only option was accepting the less odious of two bad choices._

_Van Helsing's awareness of his dream surroundings expanded when his horse whirled to meet another enemy. The man before him, anonymous in badly dented armor, had an unfamiliar device upon his shield. Their swords met with a ringing clash like that of a church's bell and he could feel the impact of it run down his arm and into his body. Again their swords met, and then again; sweat ran down his face within the close confines of his closed helmet—he wished he could open the visor to feel the wind that whistled about them, but he had never done so before, and he didn't now. It was a force of habit now, mixed in with more than a little superstition, that he never showed his face upon the battlefield. Superstition or not, it gave his appearance in battle a certain grim air that often gave him an edge from the start. He wasn't about to trade that in for a cool breeze._

_He could anticipate his foe's moves now, knew what he would do next and Van Helsing was prepared. When his opponent raised his sword again, he thrust low with his full body weight, and watched his sword slide through the chink in the armor between the breastplate and shoulder plate to pierce the flesh inside. Muscles gave, bones broke and blood flowed. His opponent's sword dropped and he was already whirling to meet another._

_The man who jockeyed for position before him now was someone he knew; this one brought with him a host of new memories and feelings. He was here, on this battlefield, to find the man before him. Vladislaus Valerious—he wore the colors of his family, the same family who had fought so often for the Church of Rome in the past. Van Helsing fought for the Church as well; his opponents were the men who waged war in the name of evil though upon occasion Rome's idea of evil had not been his. He had fought side-by-side with this eldest son of the Valerious family in the past, though they had never spoken, never met face-to-face. Upon rare occasions, he had fought on the opposite side of Vlad, when the eldest Valerious supported a claim of some petty land holder that Rome did not see fit to support nor deny beyond sending a few swordsmen as a favor to the opposing side._

_This time, however, the battle they found themselves in was not a squabble and the man before him was a foe. The Vatican itself had given orders to Van Helsing to find and bring Vlad back—the honor of his family and the great esteem the Vatican held them in demanded that the eldest son be salvaged if at all possible. But, with all their orders and for all the preparation he had had to endure to reach this field, no one had ever seen fit to satisfy his curiosity. What was Vlad being salvaged **from**_ _and_ **_why_ **_had things come to this passThe man still wore the colors and device of his family, and yet he purportedly had sundered himself from it at the same time he turned his back upon the Church. It wasn't enough for Van Helsing to blindly do what the Vatican ordered—he wanted to know **why**_ _it was necessary._

_In the course of the battle he had worked hard to ensure that he would meet this man with the hope that he would find the answers to his questions._

_Valerious was not an ordinary opponent; he too felt at home on the field and he signaled his recognition by saluting Van Helsing with his sword of Damascene steel, the blade etched with detail that was vividly delineated with his past foes' blood. It would flow today with Van Helsing's as Gabriel's would taste Vlad's. But neither sword would conquer the other today, what Van Helsing would have to do to bring Vlad back to Rome had more to do with subterfuge than honor._

_Their blows were vicious, ringing over and over against one another, their tactics always changing to prevent the other from anticipating and gaining an upper hand. The horses beneath them vied with one another as well, massive sweating flanks and shoulders clashed while bloody teeth tore at exposed flesh._

_Van Helsing's blood sang within his veins with each jar of the sword within his hand and over the roar of the field he heard Vlad's shouts of adrenalin and jubilation. In this place of death, they both felt what it was to be truly alive. Here, they were bound by the ties of bloodshed more closely than brothers and felt primal emotions within themselves more profound and dearer than love._

_Their world of ringing steel carried them back and forth over the small universe of trampled bloody ground without cessation. It felt as if the battle had lasted for days before he spotted it, the chink in Valerious' tactics. He waited, waited for it to reappear, saw it and moved forward—then felt the agonizing fire of a sword slipping under his armor, piercing his back and driving deeply into his body._

_He heard his own shout of agony and felt, for the first time in his memories, his sword fall from his grasp. He had a vague recollection of Valerious shouting, the clash of steel, and the scream of death behind him. He never doubted that Vlad had killed the man who had backstabbed him._

_Valerious' horse now brushed against his leg as he hung low over the pommel; he could see Vlad's mailed fist taking the slack reins from his hands to direct them both away from the red field, toward Vlad's own battle lines. Each jarring step was fire in his guts and it was a relief to give himself over to inevitability and allow a comforting darkness to take his mind._

_

* * *

The fire's flickering light playing over his closed eyelids roused him. He opened his eyes to stare into the red and black coals of a small blaze set within the bowels of an iron brazier. The iron radiated a comforting heat over his cold flesh for which he was grateful. His first thought was that he hadn't been so cold in a long time; it seemed the only heat in the world came from the glowing metal and the rippling white heart of the blaze. His second thought was a revelation for him-he was very tired of waking up with an injury. It had never occurred to him before that there had to be a better way to make a living than being a human target. This eye-opener was hardly welcome, given his current situation. _

_Emerging from his dour musings, he recognized that he lay upon a cot of some kind—comfortable enough as such things went with the unheard-of luxury of an actual pillow that soothed his throbbing head. He was covered in tanned skins boasting quantities of shaggy fur that waved and undulated with the passage of warm air over him. He hoped that was all that was making the long strands move. He'd had his share of the ubiquitous fleas and lice that thrived upon battlefields and had no desire to repeat the experience._

_Van Helsing's eyes continued down the length of his shrouded body to the foot of the cot and a smile came to his lips—his sword, driven point first into the ground, rose over his feet like a cross standing sentinel over his soul. If he had died alone, he would have still been guided home, having received the absolution of the brethren of the sword._

_Now his gaze rose, taking in the large tent and furnishings with some interest. The first thing he saw was his armor, hung on cross barred posts, gleaming in the firelight. He was grateful to see all the blood of the day had been scrubbed from it and a thin patina of oil had been carefully laid over the metal. Vlad's armor hung beside his; it had been similarly looked after and the device of the Valerious household wavered in the shadows and the heat haze rising from the brazier._

_The rest of the tent had interest only in revealing the things that held a place in Vlad's life. He'd never spoken with the man, never met him face to face anywhere except upon the field, enshrouded in armor with his face hidden behind an enclosed helmet. Their worlds had intersected only at the razor edge of a sword. Now, the items scattered about gave him an opportunity to get a sense of the man and what was personal to him._

_What furnishings there were appeared well cared for and reasonably luxurious—a heavy mahogany table with four solid chairs set about it, a large empty metal bath, and an open mahogany chest whose scarlet silk lining gleamed richly. Vlad's heavy cashmere cloak was tossed over the chest, with a gold chain, probably worth a fortune, spilling haphazardly over the folds of the cloak; its jeweled clasp was the winged serpent of the Valerious clan. Along the large tent's perimeter were stands and trunks that hosted weapons of all descriptions-swords, pikes, maces, stilettos, daggers, along with some items that were obviously deadly but were unusual enough to make Van Helsing's palms itch to test their weight and balance._

_He shifted slightly without being aware of it and had to stifle a groan as fire licked through his body, making him pant with the pain of its passage, as if the steel that had been buried in his back and guts was still there. He assumed the backstabber had been the man he'd been fighting before Vlad. He'd only wounded the fellow, obviously a mistake upon retrospect. Gratuitous mercy was a foolish sentiment to indulge in on a battlefield—one that he would try very hard not to repeat._

_Van Helsing's pained musings were mercifully interrupted by a disturbance at the opening of the tent and his eyes rose, narrowing as he prepared to meet for the first time the man that he had come for. When the heavy panel lifted, Van Helsing's eyebrows rose as well as he observed the man that entered._

_His first impression of Vladislaus Valerious was a sense of two beings—one a man, the other an evil almost as solid. It curled around him, dark and thick as a dense fog. He could sense it had only touched Valerious with its malevolence, had not taken root-not yet._

_His second impression, this time of the man himself, was of intelligence followed by almost overwhelming charisma. The blue-grey eyes were assessing and held a sardonic gleam that promised Valerious beheld his world with a great deal of cynical humor. Long, gleaming black hair lay loose over his shoulders, an unexpected beauty in a warrior. Van Helsing judged him to be in his late thirties—perhaps a little older or a little younger, it was difficult to tell because the self-confidence that rolled off Valerious in waves was that of a much older man. He stood over six feet; his muscular body was dressed in a black tunic, tight-fitting black leather trousers and tall boots. He found himself feeling cheated by the evil that surrounded Valerious because he suspected that in all other respects, he would have been well pleased with the look of his foe._

_Valerious' mouth quirked in a smile as he met Van Helsing's gaze. He made no reply to what he saw there; he had had his own moment of epiphany earlier when watching his physician attend Van Helsing and had felt both foreboding and pleasure in the revelation as well._

_Now, he retrieved a chair, dragging it over to the cot to settle himself by Van Helsing's side._

_"I am glad to see you have awakened; I thought perhaps we would end up digging your grave," Valerious said with a smile._

_Van Helsing's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the other man thoughtfully and listened to the intriguing accents of his speech. The conversation, the setting, was surreal. He had never expected to meet the man who wore the Valerious armor in this way. He had taken pleasure in meeting Valerious on the battlefield in the past, had found a sort of trust growing between them with the certainty of what to expect from him. The man who sat before him now was a stranger, a purported enemy that he would need to learn all over again. For now, Van Helsing had no idea what to expect beyond the most basic behaviors required of any honorable man._

_He watched Valerious' mouth curve a little more; his manner suggested that he approved of Van Helsing's reserve. Evidently, he did not suffer the too-trusting easily._

_"We have never been formally introduced-I am Vladislaus Valerious, eldest son of Carthin Valerious the Elder. Our house has deep roots in Transylvania stemming from the ancient noble family of Dragulia."_

_Van Helsing hesitated, and then spoke, feeling relief that his voice was firm though hoarse._

_"My name is Gabriel Van Helsing. Of my family, I have no knowledge."_

_He waited then, to see how his host would take that bit of news. He'd seen a great many welcome smiles curdle at the admission of unknown parentage. They'd presumed him a bastard and he had never bothered to correct the misapprehension, having already lost interest in his listener with their first sign of a smug supercilious air of superiority. For himself, bastard or king, his only interest in a man was based upon his character. On the battlefield, death and the proximity of it brought an unavoidable translucency to a man—it was easy to tell his morals by how he met and dispatched his foes or, when it came, how he met his own dispatch. Valerious had impeccable ethics on the field—it remained now to determine what Vlad's ethics were._

_With Van Helsing's admission, the other man merely inclined his head again evincing the same touch of formality as before. Van Helsing found himself in the unexpected but welcome position of liking the man. He also still had a job to do._

_"I appreciate the medical care. I should tell you though, that it doesn't change the fact that I'm here to take you back to Rome to answer charges."_

_"Charges… I am afraid that I shall have to postpone your mission, for a little while," Valerious' smile assumed a tinge of feigned sadness, his hand rising to indicate a small distance between two fingers. "A very little while, I promise. There are yet things that must be accomplished before I allow myself the luxury of a distraction."_

_"There are those that would say a call to Rome is hardly a distraction," Van Helsing said, eyebrows raised._

_Valerious shrugged. "I have more important things to do, more important than even Rome herself. In the meantime…"_

_"You still wear your family's ring," Van Helsing interrupted, his eyes dropping to the other man's hand briefly before rising again. "All around us is the insignia of your family. They sent me here, hoping you'd come back to face questioning before the Vatican is forced to act."_

_"Ahh, my family," Valerious' bonhomie dropped from him to be replaced by a dark haunted aspect. When he spoke, he voice held an aching quality to it that touched Van Helsing's heart. "My family does not understand what I am trying to do. They have been the faithful pets of Rome for generations, spilling Valerious blood, emptying our coffers and decimating our lands in her honor and have received in return-her useless blessings."_

_"Your father seems happy with the arrangement."_

_"My father does what his father did before him and his before that for as long as our line has existed—all lining up like sheep to be sheered by the greedy peasant that controls us. Controls them."_

_Van Helsing swallowed a hard dry lump in his throat. He now had a good idea of what had happened to the eldest son of the Vatican's staunchest supporter. He also had a rather nasty idea of what was to come and wished with all his heart that it weren't inevitable. That cold haze of evil over his host, palpable even now in the fire's heat, made it all too clear who Vladislaus had turned to in lieu of Rome._

_

* * *

Van Helsing expected to be moved to the encampment for prisoners, now that he had awakened. It was an unpleasant surprise when he found that wasn't the case. He remained, under guard, within Vlad's tent—spending much of the days that followed flat on his back in the cot he had awakened upon. When Vlad wasn't about and his guards were safely outside, he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain of his injuries as he plundered Vlad's belongings for information. His body was healing quickly—too quickly, as was its curious habit. His almost supernatural regenerative powers would have been considered the stuff of witchcraft if he wasn't already safely in the employee of the Vatican. As it was, instead of witchcraft, they muttered about **miracles**_ _and sent him off on another mission. _

_The field doctor that attended to Vlad's prisoner had been growing gradually more and more perplexed when he examined Van Helsing. It was only a matter of time before he mentioned his patient's amazing recovery to his master and given Vlad's current mind-set, that news could lead to some unpleasant consequences. It was never a good idea to throw an unexplained miracle at a man who was already chafing at the bit of God. It either tended to return that man to God, or more likely, made him more determined than ever to turn from God in search of the devil who might vouchsafe a few 'miracles' on his new servant. The last thing Van Helsing wanted to do was to give a push to this man who was already tottering on the brink of falling into the devil's hands._

_His thoughts proved prophetic in that the next instant brought both the physician as well as Valerious back to the tent, their entrance catching him standing at the table with his nose deep in Vlad's papers._

_The physician made spluttering noises, but Van Helsing's eyes were only for Valerious as the man's eyes fixed upon him with the light of vindication in them. With a small dark smile just curling the edges of his mouth, Valerious stalked toward his prisoner, his hand rising, palm down, to allow his finger to make a little twirling motion._

_"If you please—turn about. My physician tells me your recovery has been most unusual. It appears that he is right. I would like to see it for myself, if you don't mind."_

_"And if I do mind?" Van Helsing asked, though without any real hope._

_"It would do you very little good—so why make this unpleasant? If you please, turn around."_

_He didn't want to, but he wanted to be 'helped' to do so by Valerious' guard even less. He turned, tossing the papers he had been perusing upon the table with a sigh. As he braced his hands on the table's edge, he heard the doctor's excited huffing behind him as the physician pulled the tail of his shirt up to expose his back. Valerious' bark of surprise and then the sound of his laughter punctuated by cynical harsh clapping made Van Helsing close his eyes in resignation. He wasn't surprised when a hard hand fell on his shoulder, turning him around and thrusting him back into the table with enough force to wring a stifled oath from him._

_Valerious' face was a mask of amazement. "What kind of being are you? No man heals like that. Why are you here?"_

_"I told you. I was sent by Rome and your family…"_

_His words were cut short by a swift vicious backhanded slap that cut his lip and made him stumble against the table. He heard the doctor's cautionary words and looked up in time to see Valerious seize the man and thrust him toward the entrance of the tent with instructions not to come back._

_When Valerious turned back, his temper and expression were schooled again to a dark cynical humor that made Van Helsing's skin crawl._

_"We will not need him back, will we?" Vlad asked as he steepled his hands before him and gazed at Van Helsing as if he were the Holy Grail. "Tell me,_ _**can**_ _you be killed?"_

_"Since I'm still alive, I wouldn't be in a position to know," Van Helsing growled as he straightened, using the table to haul himself erect, and then leaned against it with gratitude._

_He watched Valerious' dark eyebrows rise as the man reached down and with a slow almost languorous action, drew his sword, the metal's almost silent hiss against the scabbard like that of a snake._

_The firelight of the brazier gleamed a dull red on the drawn blade, running like tainted water over the etched designs before dripping down over the hilt and Vlad's arm as he approached the table._

_Van Helsing waited, his eyes holding the other man's. He expected the test of his mortality to be brief and painful._

_When the sword rose before him, his eyes dropped against his will, to follow the tip of the sword as it wove a glittering dance over his chest, touching but never cutting him. He gritted his teeth and raised his eyes again to Valerious' and saw him nod slightly, as if pleased._

_Another step brought them within a few paces of each other, close enough for Vlad's bare hand, with his family's ring glittering upon it, to rise and touch his face, to stroke his cheek down to his cut mouth. He didn't wince when Vlad's thumb roughly stroked his mouth and came away stained with his blood—he did wince, though, when that thumb was carried with a thoughtful air to Vlad's mouth and the man tasted his blood with a darting tongue._

_His nerves stretched to a twanging discord as Valerious again reached out slowly, this time catching his arm at his wrist, jerking his hand away from the table's edge to bring it up, clenched, between them, at chest height._

_"There is no reason for us to be on opposite sides, Gabriel," Valerious murmured as he released Van Helsing, shaking down the sleeve of his tunic as he did so to bare his own wrist and forearm before he seized the other man's hand tightly, locking their fingers together. The sword rose between them, rising like a serpent from below to slither over their bared flesh and slide between their joined wrists._

_Van Helsing bit back a grunt of pain as he felt the metal bite and cut deeply into his wrist. He saw the flash of a like pain in Valerious' eyes and felt the hot warmth of their blood mingle as the gore slid down their joined arms to the sword below._

_Valerious words were a dark whisper, caressing his skin as they touched and glided over his mind. "We are closer than brothers, tied by blood and sword to one another. We are both more than we seem, fated to meet and join."_

_The deep wounds on their arms touched and joined, pressing fiercely against one another so that their mingled blood flowed into both their bodies._

_Valerious' lips drew back to bare his white teeth in a tight smile of pleasure. "You are being used Gabriel, as was I. But I escaped! So can you. We are pledged to God, to give him our wealth, our blood, our lives. And at the end, what benefit do we reap? We die! We become the dust that generations will trample beneath their feet on the way to their own graves. Not you…and not I!"_

_Van Helsing's eyes dropped to their joined wrists as he ripped his hand free of Vlad's, seizing the other man's arm before it could drop to touch the pale flesh and wipe away the lingering blood. His mouth fell open as his thumb rubbed over the warm skin and found it was whole, without a mark on it._

_"Yes, my friend," Vlad murmured. "We are both something more than ordinary men."_

_

* * *

Vlad disengaged, turning away to stride to the trunk that held his cloak. He pulled it free and threw it over his shoulders, pinning it closed with the golden broach in the shape of his family crest before turning back to Van Helsing. _

_"I have urgent business that must be attended to. My father has decided that he will pay me a little visit, no doubt to plead with me to return to the Roman fold of the faithful. I fear that I shall disappoint him—rather sharply."_

_The sound of Vlad's sword returning to his sheathe brought a growl to Van Helsing's chest, his white teeth bared as his lips drew back in a snarl. The advent of Vlad's guards, thrusting into the tent stopped him from throwing himself on the other man. He was seized and held by the arms as Vlad tsked over him, shaking his head._

_"You do not understand yet, my Gabriel. All of this is fated, it cannot be avoided. You will stay here, safe and warm, and wait for me to return. When I do, I will be Valerious the Elder, and I will pledge the Valerious house to a new master sealing the pact with my father's blood. At that time, we will discuss how best you can help me in my new position."_

_Van Helsing struggled against the guards, calling out when Valerious turned away to leave the tent. "Vlad, stop! What you're planning will make you anathema!"_

_The Transylvanian nobleman paused, his head tilted to one side, attentively, before he turned back. He came to stand before Van Helsing, one hand rising to stroke his face as a curiously gentle expression stole over Valerious' face. Vlad made soothing noises as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Van Helsing's in a soft gentle caress, speaking as their mouths touched so that his whispered answer chilled Van Helsing's flesh._

_"I am counting on it, my Gabriel."_

_

* * *

Van Helsing was dragged into and tied to one of the heavy chairs by the guards. He didn't even see Vlad leave the tent, but he knew he had when the sense of evil receded. He fought the binding and gathered a few blows in the process, brutal but still restrained. Evidently, Vlad had made it clear he wanted his prisoner kept in decent shape—for what purpose Van Helsing didn't want to speculate. _

_They left him alone when they finished the binding; judging by their comments they were ill-at-ease with their master's mission and planned to ease their consciences with a great deal of cheap wine._

_He was grateful for their squeamishness, using their absence to struggle with the ropes about his body. It did very little good, they had tied the knots tightly. In his struggles, his skin flushed and heated so that sweat streamed over his face and he cursed the once friendly heat of the iron brazier that now made the tent seem like Hell itself. It was during one of his hissed tirades at the inanimate object that he realized the brazier was the answer to his problem. The chair was too heavy and he was too well bound to be able to slide over the ground to the stands of weapons along the perimeter of the tent. But the red-hot brazier was only a few feet away._

_By dint of much wriggling and rocking, he forced the chair over the uneven ground, eventually falling over to land with his back to the brazier. He bit his lip bloody as he held his bound wrists to the hot metal and smelled his own flesh cooking along with the coarse hemp strands of the ropes. It took time, and just when he couldn't stand the pain any longer, he felt the ropes part. With his hands free, he was able to force the coils about this upper arms and chest up and off. The rest was easy._

_He was forced to spend several moments tending to his burned and blistered skin. In some places, the flesh had cooked enough to split open and he found his stomach doing flip flops over the sight of it. He hoped that his body's odd regenerative powers were up to the task of repairing the burns even as he cursed those same powers for not being able to take away the pain. As it was, he found some relief by plunging his hands into the pot of pure oil used to burnish the armor. The feeling of the respite was overwhelming and he didn't bother to shake away the scalding tears of relief that flowed down his cheeks._

_It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done to pull his hands from the comfort of the oil and to force himself to cover them with some of the linen bandages the doctor had left behind for his back. While the oil still coating his hands was a blessing, the unavoidable scratch of the linen was agony. He wouldn't be able to handle a sword that was certain. Still, he planned to find Vlad and his father, hopefully before Valerious the Elder was killed, if only to warn him and possibly thwart Vlad's plans._

_In order to make his way unmolested through the camp, he relied on subterfuge. He wrapped himself in one of Vlad's cloaks, pulling the hood up well over his head. He couldn't fasten it with the brooch; the metal was too stiff for his hands to handle. Instead, he gingerly thrust the pin loosely through the material and then held the panels closed by hand. With luck and the settling darkness outside, no one would look too closely._

_His luck held. Vlad commanded respect and distance, and dressed in his cloak, Van Helsing reaped the benefits of both. No one stopped his journey to the horse stands; when he arrived, a horse was brought out to him and the stable master himself dropped onto his hands and knees to present his back for his 'master's' ease in mounting. Van Helsing didn't hesitate to avail himself of the broad steady back and settled in the saddle with a stifled groan of relief._

_The horse was well trained and responded to the nudges of his knees and the tightening of his thighs about its barrel with alacrity so that he was galloping out of the camp within seconds._

_Out in the fields, away from the warmth of the fires and the sweaty press of humanity, the air was sharply cold and his breath fogged with each exhalation. A gray mist was rising on the ground, sapping the heat of the day from the churned earth—tendrils swirled about his horse's legs and rose into the air in undulating ribbons that left greasy chilled moisture on his skin. His horse, too, appeared to dislike the clammy embrace because even without his urging, it set a hard pace, covering ground with breathtaking speed._

_He had a fair idea where to go and with his horse's unexpected turn of speed they arrived at the battle grounds in time to see two mounted figures, pale in the writhing mists, meet. Even with the distance between them and over the thunder of his horse's hooves he heard the clash of swords. Unable to help, Van Helsing drew his horse back to a walk and then to immobility._

_The battle was brief, Carthin Valerious hadn't been prepared for his son's treachery and it was plain he didn't want to hurt Vlad. Vlad, not facing the same constraints, attacked his father and easily dispatched him with a neat economical flick of the wrist. In the deceptive fog that shrouded them, Valerious the Elder's slide from his horse seemed very slow, as if the air itself held him up until the last possible second when he hit the ground with a deafening sound. The silence that followed was marred only by the serpent's hiss of Vlad's sword being sheathed._

_Without words or hesitation, Vlad turned his horse and left his father upon the cold ground, the sounds of his animal's hooves rapidly disappeared in the cold night air._

_Van Helsing urged his own mount forward, carefully approaching the site of the battle lest his horse trod on the man on the ground. He found, however, that he had no difficulty spotting Valerious and slid from his horse to land with a thud not ten feet from the fallen man. He approached and knelt with a saddened heart, his head bowed in prayer that flowed from his lips softly. When he finished, he made to sketch a cross over the fallen man only to start violently as a gloved hand caught his wrist._

_"Don't count me out yet, my son," Valerious the Elder growled. "Vlad may yet kill me in the future, but he was not successful tonight."_

_Van Helsing blinked stupidly, unable to do more for several seconds until a dull rasping cough from Valerious roused him from his wondrous stupor. Heedless of his hands, he stripped off his borrowed cloak and laid it over the other man, tucking it well in so that the thick folds muffled the chill of the ground. The mists were dissipating and he saw when Valerious recognized him._

_"So, we meet again," the old man murmured._

_"I wish it were under better circumstances," Van Helsing replied as he inspected the man's wounds, a wince for the bloody torn flesh sliding across his face unawares._

_"The circumstances…," Valerious chuckled. "Yes, they are not good. Still, I am alive so I suppose I shouldn't kick too hard about them."_

_"Hmph. Barely alive," Van Helsing sighed. "We'll have to get out of here. Vlad had me tied up in his tent; I'm assuming that's where he's headed now. It won't take much for him to figure out where I've gone."_

_"No, I suspect my son will be very quick. How are you going to get me on a horse? I can see your hands are bandaged."_

_Van Helsing grimaced as he rose off the wet ground to eye the two horses that had drawn together and were now watching them patiently. He had no idea how he was going to get the rather large man on the ground onto his rather large horse. It would have been a job when he himself was uninjured, now the task was monumental. Still, they had no choice, neither wanted to meet Vlad again anytime soon._

_When he reflected on it later, it occurred to Van Helsing that God had come to their aid on that field. Certainly that was the only way they could both have ended up mounted on their horses and still relatively intact._

_Holding the reins of Valerious' horse, Van Helsing guided them away, the gentle walking gait of their mounts easing them into the comforting obscurity of the night._

_

* * *

Their arrival at the battle lines of the Valerious encampment met with a not-unexpected furor. Van Helsing made very certain that he didn't fight the men who pulled him from his horse and held him at sword point as Valerious the Elder was hastened to a nearby tent surrounded by his kith and kin. _

_It was a relief to be tugged into a separate tent and thrust to the floor to wait for his interrogators. He was very tired and the throbbing in his hands had eased enough that he was able to fall into a doze._

_He was awakened by fire, thrust into his face as a ring of men encircled him, peering down at him as if he were an animal on display._

_"Yes, that's him," came the assurance from an anonymous source—the next thing Van Helsing knew he was being pulled to his feet and a very heavy and blessedly warm cloak was being thrown over his shoulders._

_He was herded out of the guard tent and hustled along to a much larger tent before he was more than half awake, with the result that he was still blinking rather stupidly when he was thrust down on a chair before Carthin Valerious. He would later remember that this was the second time he had presented such an adle-pated view of himself to the man and he would wonder how Valerious had ever believed him to be competent._

_Carthin, with all of his family forming a half circle about his bed, viewed Van Helsing with a satisfaction that made the other man a little nervous._

_"I am pleased to see you again, my friend. And I apologize for your rough reception—my family did not realize that you had only just saved my life."_

_"I hardly saved your life," Van Helsing shrugged, surreptitiously taking a good look at the assembled family through his eyelashes before returning his gaze and attention to the man on the bed. "I just arrived in time to pick up what was left of it."_

_Carthin chuckled as he liberated his arm from the blankets to drop a surprisingly heavy hand on Van Helsing's leg, squeezing the flesh beneath his palm hard. Van Helsing stifled the urge to grunt an _'**_ouch_'**; _evidently Carthin was the 'hale and hearty' type whose grizzly-like visage was matched by his bearish strength. When he was well, he would be a formidable foe to his enemies. Reminding himself that one of those enemies was now this man's eldest son, Van Helsing met Valerious' gaze thoughtfully._

_"What do you plan to do now?" he asked._

_Valerious' gruff manner became less so as sadness tainted it and caused the color in his face to ebb into a chalky paleness. When he spoke, his voice was a specter of its former vibrancy._

_"I must stop my son. He has branded us all with the devil's mark. I am worried though that any attempt by my blood to stop Vlad will only enforce the pact he has made with the devil."_

_Van Helsing sighed. He wasn't surprised when he heard his own voice speak, just resigned to the predictability of it._

_"I'll help. Tell me what you need me to do."_

_

* * *

The plan was simple and straightforward. Van Helsing and the male heirs of the Valerious clan undertook a grueling race to the Valerious castle, barely making it there before Vlad. They announced their presence and set up for an ambush. _

_When Vlad arrived, he strode into the Castle as its master only to find himself surrounded by the grim remnants of his family with swords drawn._

_Surprisingly, his eyes were only for Van Helsing._

_"I am pleased to see you, my friend," he remarked as he shrugged off his heavy cloak and drew his sword. "I was afraid that you were lost to me. It is fitting that the last part of my plan ends with you."_

_"I don't understand what you're talking about," Van Helsing said as he too drew his sword. His hands had hardly begun to heal, but any other man would have been maimed for life so he didn't fault his body for what little it had accomplished. He only hoped he was healed enough to do what had to be done._

_Raising his sword before him, he saluted Vlad with it. "It's time," he murmured and the man across from him, behind Vlad, nodded._

_He saw Vlad's eyes widen, saw the look of disbelief upon his face before he whirled about in time to meet the descending sword of his brother even as Van Helsing's thrust forward and buried itself in his side._

_Vlad's lips parted in a strangled cry that liberated a fountain of bright blood from his lips. The point of his sword dropped to ring against the stone of his family home, cutting a thin deep mark into it. Then he fell, first to his knees, then to his side to lay with wide dark eyes still fixed on Van Helsing._

_Dropping his own sword, Van Helsing knelt beside the man who had been his enemy and dearer to him than any brother might have been. He had gained strength and honor in his battles with Vlad, and had cherished him more than any other man he had ever known._

_His hand gripped Vlad's and he was grateful to feel the pressure returned though it awoke fresh agony in his burned flesh._

_Vlad's pale lips smiled at him. "So, in the end, it is you who murder me?"_

_Van Helsing nodded, feeling as if the admission cost him a piece of his soul. "Yes. I'm sorry."_

_"Don't be. You have set me free," Vlad sighed, then stilled. His eyes became distant and the hand within Van Helsing's stiffened then fell away._

_They prepared him for a burial outside the family grounds, his attempted murder of his father barring him from resting in the family crypt. The last act was to sever the finger bearing the family crest. The ring was given to Van Helsing to take to Rome to prove that the Valerious family had purged the stain of evil from their name._

_Van Helsing took the ring with a feeling of grim melancholy. He would present the token of faith as requested and his part in the family's sad history would be over. He looked forward to his next mission praying that would force his mind to forget, even for a little while._

_Placing the ring on his own finger for safekeeping, he paid his respects to the family before taking his leave. The mark that Vlad had cut in the stone of the great room was still fresh and he touched it with his fingers as if seeking a blessing from it. When he rode from the gates of Valerious Castle he prayed that he would never have cause to return._

* * *

Gabriel's eyes flew open, starring into the near pitch-black darkness that pressed all about him. It clung to him, weighing him down like the cold wet earth of a grave until he couldn't breathe. 

Beside him he felt a stirring, and then a warm body draped itself over his chest and warm lips touched his throat.

"Gabriel? Mmmm."

Van Helsing closed his eyes and thanked God as his arms rose to encircle Carl's warm body, hugging it close as he locked his hands about the broad back. He drifted back to sleep, warmed by Carl's body over his with the raised surface of Vlad's ring nestled against the palm of his hand.

tbc


	14. Blood Wars Part 14

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The foursome leave Limbo to resume their journey**

Notes: Major plot elements. This chapter is, unfortunately, one of those 'neccessary' mostly-dialogue, no action things that move the plot along. I hope you'll bear with me, the next chapter should be much better.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Gnomey, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Jania, ****Mithril Maiden and Alter Ego, ****Runts Gal, ****Curious Dream Weaver, ****Countess Verona Dracula**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**Blood Wars 14**

Van Helsing awoke with a start, thrashing momentarily beneath the coverlets before the ache of his shoulder pulled him all the way from sleep into the sullen grey light of the eternal day of Limbo. For a moment he lay still, gritting his teeth against the pain that seemed to be everywhere in his body, then abruptly he heaved himself up to a sitting position.

An examination of the wound in his shoulder with his fingers suggested it was a bloody big hole, but it had been stitched shut with care and no signs of infection appeared. He'd been lucky. He expected to be weak as a kitten for a day or so and then he'd be up to normal strength again. During the course of his self-examination, he was also surprised to find that his neck twinged; he reached up to finger the raised surface of a healing bite mark and his lips curved up in a reminiscent smile. Carl's 'love bite' recalled some very pleasant memories.

His mind was working now, the confusing mists of sleep and his dream were gone. They'd been in Limbo for three days—at least two days longer than he had ever intended for them to stay. Provided the other three companions were in good health and had no real objections, today they would move on.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked about the room with a sigh. They'd brought him to his and Carl's original room. The perpetual lowering light flowing through the open window made it difficult to tell what hour of the day it was. Of Carl there was no sign; he hoped the friar had made use his down time by repairing the flame gun and was now prepared to leave.

Gingerly, Van Helsing thrust the covers back and slid to the edge of the bed, growling as additional aches and pains joined the throbbing in his shoulder. By dint of determination and the total inability to embarrass himself by actually calling for help in dressing, he struggled into his trousers and the fresh shirt Carl had laid out. The thick socks and boots took some maneuvering, but he managed.

While he prepared himself, he noted time and again the Valerious ring on his hand. He'd never known its history before; now he inspected the raised relief and remembered his dream. He had no doubt as to the validity of the images that he'd seen the previous night. He could still feel the ache of his muscles caused by the battles he had relived, could still smell the miasma of death and blood.

Mostly, though, he could still hear the sounds of Vlad's voice and feel the warmth of his touch. Van Helsing had no idea what had happened after he'd left the Valerious castle—why he had lost his memory, nor why he had been found, an apparent stranger, on the Vatican steps hundreds of years later. It made no sense.

A ghost of a half-remembered conversation floated through his head:

"_Consider this thoughBthis order has been in existence for hundreds of years. We have survived because we are willing to do what is necessary. And as a result, we...acquire...what is necessary to continue. You are here now, for that reason. Make of that what you will._

The memory of Jinette's word's brought a thoughtful frown to Van Helsing's face and he made a promise to himself that he would find out more from the prelate upon his return.

Reluctantly, he forced himself to stand, gingerly rubbing at his aching shoulder with a grimace as the stitches pulled in protest with his movement. He was tempted just to give the whole thing up as a bad job and go back to bed, but that wasn't really an option considering they were stuck in Hell until this mission was completed. Benerd might like the amenities of Limbo, but Van Helsing was less inclined to the subteranean life and he imagined that Carl had to be going quietly crazy without his lab. As for Mavis….

Van Helsing sighed—he expected to receive a lecture and possibly a good ear cuffing for his actions todate. He didn't remember ever having a mother, though of course he must have-still, until one showed up to claim him, the witch seemed to be bound and determined to fill the role. He wondered-if he was indeed over four hundred years old, would that fact impress Mavis? He doubted it. He suspected he could be the second coming and she'd still insist he wipe his feet before entering the house and heaven forbid if he should take it into his 'pig-headed' mind to sass the woman. How in the world did he get himself into these things? Everyone else called him a murderer and fled in terror of him—Mavis lectured him and threatened to spank him. The world was a strange place.

Lifting his hat and heavy coat from their place on the room's only chair, Van Helsing moved to the door and pulled it open.

The calm air outside was quiet for the moment and, for just an instant, he allowed his eyes to close and his mind to float free, as if this were home and there were no problems or heartaches yet to battle. The scrape of a footstep before him ended his instant of bliss and he reluctantly opened his eyes.

Before him stood a quiet pale woman, dark eyes, dark hair, dressed in what appeared to be a black shroud that covered both her hands and feet. A thoughtful frown creased his forehead as he surveyed her and found her oddly familiar.

From out of her voluminous clothing, a pale slender hand appeared, the fingers of which crooked, as though beckoning him.

"You want me to go with you?" he asked and she nodded before turning away to lead him from the little yard out to the main street. As he followed her, he saw over her shoulder his friends assembled by the well. Their air of ease and total unconcern for preparations to leave Limbo caused a little jolt of guilt to run through his mind. Benerd was leaning against the stone wall and appeared to be none the worse considering the wear and tear he'd suffered in the last battle. Carl sat on the well wall, swinging his feet. He had the look of a man who had had a good night's sleep and was ready to face the world. Considering the fact that Van Helsing had shared a bed with the friar and was worn out, Carl's seeming good humor was a little intimidating. The last of the foursome stood among other men and women who resembled his guide, talking to them earnestly. The woman who had led him to this site now abandoned him to join Mavis.

Van Helsing moved to join Carl and Benerd, dropping his coat on the well's edge. Meeting Carl's questioning blue eyes, he gestured to the witch and her group with his chin.

"Who are they?"

"That's Mavis' coven," Carl supplied helpfully. "If I understand correctly, they're her kin, apparently brought back from the dead."

"Oh." Van Helsing eyed the group somewhat askance. "Why do they look like that? The shroud and the pale skin?"

Benerd jockeyed for position in the conversation, lowering his voice as he leaned in between the two other men. "I believe that their appearance has to do with the laws of Hell. You'll recall that Mavis said there were laws here that governed how things looked and what could be done here. Apparently, Mavis can call her kin from the Summerland, but they're bound by the laws of Hell to appear as penitents and pagans."

"Penitents and pagans, eh? I can imagine, if they're anything like Mavis, how they must love that," Van Helsing snorted then uttered a muffled yelp as Carl remonstrated him with a tap on the shoulder—his injured shoulder. The friar was immediately contrite and smoothed the injury with gentle fingers as he spoke quietly.

"I don't think it's a very good idea to be indulging your admittedly odd sense of humor in regards to these people, Gabriel. It's thanks to them that we're all here now. They cast some sort of spell that drove Paul back to his lair and will hold him there until we arrive. I can't imagine what kind of power one would have to have to be able to do that, but I'd rather not take the chance of angering them, if it's all the same to you."

"A spell? If they can contain Paul with a spell, why can't they…."

"No," Benerd interrupted firmly. "I already asked and was duly castigated for it by Mistress Mavis. Evidently they've done all they can or all they're going to and that's that."

Van Helsing snorted quietly and shrugged with one shoulder. "I'll take what I can get. If they can really hold Paul where he is until we can arrive, it'll make it easier on us."

"Yes, indeed," Carl nodded firmly. "And there's something else you should know, Gabriel, before you put your foot into it." The friar held one finger up to forestall Van Helsing's surly reply. "Ah! Just listen. Evidently, the man we know as Paul is actually called Stephan. And he's Mavis' son."

"Her son!" Van Helsing burst out only to be muffled hastily by both Carl's and Benerd's hands being clapped over his mouth.

"Shhhhhhhhhh!" Carl hissed at the hunter, facing down Van Helsing's lowered eyebrows and annoyed gaze over his and Benerd's silencing hands. "I'll tell you everything later; for now, just remember that he is Mavis' son, those odd people in black are her dead relatives and therefore _his_ dead relatives. This must all be very difficult for her so be mindful of what you say."

At the hunter's nod the two churchmen removed their hands cautiously. Under their watchful eyes, Van Helsing only wiped his mouth on the back of his own hand.

"If you're going to gag me, at least have clean hands," he growled. Benerd flushed and wiped the offending palm on the rough brown sackcloth of his robe. Carl was less impressed.

"Never you mind our dirty hands. Just remember what I said."

"I'm not addled, Carl, just confused" Van Helsing replied with a growl. "So Paul is taken care of, for now. What about Dracula?"

Carl settled back on his wall with a thoughtful shrug, his feet resuming their absent-minded swinging. "I don't know. He was balked by the same shield as Paul so I have to assume that he's contained too—though I don't know for how long."

"I doubt it will be for long," Benerd supplied with an apologetic grimace. "If I correctly understand the reports of your first journey to Transylvania, a similar shield was used by his father to contain him and he not only managed to circumvent that but managed also to turn it around and used it as his own personal one-way door. It didn't keep him from leaving, just kept others from entering his domain. So he's used to the kind of magic that made the shield and he should be able to get around it fairly quickly. At least…I believe that's the case."

Van Helsing nodded. "You're probably right. We're going to have to think of some way to manage him better on this journey. I don't want to have to fight him off every step of the way." Van Helsing looked over Carl's shoulder at the witches still in conversation. "Isn't there anything they can do? I'm not asking for them to solve our problems with Paul—if they could manage to slow down Dracula, that would be enough."

"I think they've probably done all they can," Carl murmured with a careful glance back at the group before meeting Van Helsing's frustrated gaze again. "I suspect containing Dracula will fall on our shoulders. Gabriel…is there anything that you can tell us? You understand him best of all of us. What's he after?"

Van Helsing shook his head as he turned away, thrusting a hand through his hair in vexation as he forced his mind to replay the dream and then to remember the conversations he'd had with the vampire lord.

"I don't know…. What he's said doesn't make a lot of sense. I think he enjoys giving me useless bits of information so he can see me squirm and grapple with them. The last time we spoke, he said something about missing the sunlight. And something about balance…."

"Balance?" Carl queried, leaning forward to plant his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "What does that mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Van Helsing huffed. "He said there were other compensations to being alive, that there had to be a balance."

"Ah," Carl breathed, then blinked. "That doesn't help. Can you remember anything else? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might have seemed. Our biggest handicap is that you haven't had the opportunity to speak with him all that much, so we'll have to figure out quite a large puzzle using very few pieces."

Van Helsing nodded, took a deep breath, and settled again against the well. He calmed his mind and waited, and found himself once again remembering his dream. It had been unusually vivid and was perplexing in itself. With a mental shrug, he decided to tell it to Carl and Benerd—there was always a possibility that they might be able to make something of it and fortunately, the dream was a great deal clearer in his mind than any of his past conversations with Dracula.

That could wait, however. Meeting Benerd's and Carl's gaze again, he gestured to his coat.

"I'll give it some careful thought. In the meantime, we should be moving on. Did you repair your gun, Carl?"

The friar's eyebrows rose as he took in the hunter's pale skin and the careful way he moved, but his only reply was a nod.

"Then you'll want to gather your things together. See if the village can give us some supplies—food, water, medical—to take on the trip. I won't be much help with carrying any extra parcels, so try to keep it as light as you can."

"Ah…all right…. Gabriel," Carl began, raising one finger to his lips as his gaze dropped to Van Helsing's shoulder with a thoughtful air.

"We can't wait for it to heal, Carl. Dracula could be back at any time. You and Benerd are well-armed and I can help as needed until my shoulder improves in a day or so."

Benerd looked as if he wanted to protest but Carl only shook his head, clucking mildly as he hopped off the wall to take the monk by the shoulder, steering him away. "Don't say it. It won't do any good when he gets in a mood like this. Best just to do as he says."

Van Helsing grimaced as he watched the two churchmen companionably amble off-he was in a mood? Was he the only one to see that they couldn't afford to wait for Paul and Dracula to regroup? And surely their welcome in this village had about worn itself out? He was used to bringing trouble with him wherever he went, and apart from Dietz, he'd never been welcomed to stay much longer than a day.

Mavis had split off from her 'coven' and was now approaching. Mentally he girded his loins for battle as he gathered up his coat, and settled his hat on his head.

Surprisingly, though, the witch said nothing. Instead, she helped him carefully pull on his coat, settling it as comfortably as possible.

"So, we are to go now?" She asked when he turned back to her.

"Yes. We've been here long enough."

"Ja. I thought you would say that. It's best to move on. We're close to Paul now—he's just beyond the next river."

"Your son," Van Helsing interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"What's there to tell? This Paul, he looks and sounds like my Stephan, but his life has made a monster of him. The best I can do for him now is what we are planning to do."

Van Helsing shook his head, frowning, but made no comment. Instead, he looked up at the assembled 'coven' that still stood immobile and silent. "Carl and Benerd say that your coven can hold Paul until we arrive. Will he be able to send monsters against us?"

Mavis shrugged and turned from the hunter, moving away from the well with him following close behind. "Will he be able to? I don't know. He is held to the place in Hell he has made for himself. What magic he can work from there, what this place will allow him to do, I can't say. The barrier does not stop his magic, only his physical presence is contained."

"Hmph. That'll do for a start. Are you ready to leave?"

"Ja. I'll get my pack and meet you in front of the house," the witch announced and trotted off to another building.

…..

Their preparations to leave the silent village took only an hour. They assembled outside of the rooming house the villagers had granted for their use with a silent resignation that was difficult to push away. Carl took in their glum aspects and ventured a smile.

"My research says that the area about Limbo is perpetually charged with feelings of despair and lack of hope. It's possible that's what keeps the people of Limbo in Limbo. It's all rather confusing. Suffice it to say, I think this dark cloud we're feeling is a bit of that—once we move on, we should feel our energy return."

"I hope so," Benerd muttered. "I feel as if a demon were sitting on my chest, pushing me right down into the ground."

"Better an imaginary weight than a real beastie sitting on your chest," Van Helsing reminded the monk. "Let's get going."

"The villagers!" Carl yelped, slapping a hand to his forehead as he gestured about the silent village with the other. "We forgot all about them. How will they know it's all right to return?"

"I have taken care of that," Mavis patted the friar's arm. "When we are gone, when it is safe for them to return, word will be gotten to them. It is best that we go now, so they can return quickly."

"Oh…. Well, then I suppose we're really ready to go?" Carl mumbled, flushing slightly. Van Helsing snorted and ruffled the friar's hair, smiling at the outraged squawk the blond made.

Without a backward glance, the foursome set off on their journey.

…..

The terrain beyond the village was a vast plain of thick mud, strong enough to support their weight in some areas, but leaving them struggling through knee-deep sludge in others. They struggled through it breathlessly, helping one another out of the clammy sinkholes onto the firmer ground. The travelers quickly learned to differentiate between the areas that could support their weight and those that would not, though sometimes they were forced to go wading in order to make any headway at all.

Carl swiped at the muck clinging to his face, flinging it away with a grimace. He recalled a great woman had once told him that the very rich enjoyed baths in mud, saying it was good for their pores. He hadn't believed it then, and he certainly didn't now. He had mud in places that he couldn't even mention to _Gabriel_. And judging by the red-faced shimmying that Benerd was doing, the monk was no better off. Of the four, Gabriel was probably the best off, but his heavy coat, now weighted down with pounds of mud, kept dragging him down so any advantage he had with his trousers and firmly laced boots was nulled.

When they all had clambered onto the newest flat firm piece of land, Carl collapsed with a decided huff.

"That's it! I need a rest," he announced and promptly fell over backwards with a grateful sigh. He didn't care if the ground was cold and clammy, his shaking muscles demanded nothing less than a full flat-out rest.

The others appeared to agree. Benerd promptly assumed the full-prone position, Van Helsing and Mavis contented themselves with sitting in boneless sprawls.

The hunter looked about the plain surrounding them grimly. They'd only come a quarter of the way; somehow they had to pick up the pace, but with this thick mud holding them back he wasn't sure how to accomplish that.

Mavis, watching his exasperation, nodded. "Ja, this place is a trial, much like the punishments I read of in your books. It is not meant for the souls of this place to travel freely or easily and we must share their fate."

"I'm surprised we haven't met anyone else," Benerd said breathlessly. "I mean people die every day, shouldn't this place be more…er…active?"

"Oh I'm sure they're here," Carl answered, waving a hand about. "But we're not seeing them. We're in Hell proper now and we're alive. They would be as incorporeal as ghosts to us."

"Ghosts!" Benerd's head popped up, his wide, round blue eyes darting about. "Oh, why did you have to say that!"

"Sorry!" Carl chuckled and rolled onto his side, laying his dirty cheek into his dirty palm as he looked at Van Helsing and Mavis. "Let's discuss something else then, to get our minds off that. Gabriel, have you thought of anything else that could help us with Dracula?"

The hunter nodded reluctantly. He had, of course. He'd meant to tell them all along about the dream, but it came hard now that the time for the telling had arrived. He found himself wanting to forget the sadness of it, the feelings of having to choose between two bad alternatives. He'd only temporarily saved the Valerious family by killing Dracula—and in killing him he'd had a hand in creating the vampire lord. He found himself wondering if he'd ever be free of their sad fate. What had tied them together in the first place, that he should be constantly drawn back to them?

He recounted the dream in its entirety, then had to retell it with Carl's constant questions on points of interest. The vivid images were still fresh in his mind, almost as if it were happening again. There was none of the usual fogginess of dreams that faded quickly with time, though he wished for that blessedly comfortable amnesia.

Carl saw his unease and patted the hunter's leg soothingly.

"I know that this isn't easy, but I think it does help us," he said with a smile.

"How does it help? It didn't' happens yesterday—if it did happen at all, it was over 400 years ago," Van Helsing growled, subsiding when he saw the witch raise a castigating eyebrow. He avoided her glance by rising to his feet, forcing the others to do the same despite their groans of protestation.

Even the prospect of slogging on didn't stop Carl's fascinated ruminations. "If we take your dream as an actual memory the implications are incredible. But even if it isn't a true memory, or if it is some sort of past-life memory…." Carl waggled a finger at Mavis when she snorted before continuing, "It tells us a number of things, regardless. For instance, you appear to be tied to the Valerious family for some reason. Perhaps through your decision to help Valerious the Elder."

Benerd caught at Carl's elbow as the friar stumbled over the rough ground, helping him to remain upright. He took up the struggling friar's narrative with eager excitement. "Yes! And we know that Dracula apparently had already gained some benefit with his pact with the devil as evidenced by his healing. Somehow, he recognized you, by your similar ability, as being, perhaps, the other side of the coin."

"The balance!" Carl shouted and thumped Benerd on the back with an excited and pleased air. Van Helsing was watching the two churchmen with a bemused and patient air that made Carl roll his eyes and bounce up and down. "Don't you see—that reference to The Left Hand of God that we found in the Valerious Castle. We know now that was you. The Left Hand of God pitted against the hand of the devil on earth. The Left Hand of God has always been seen as the hand of retribution. God's right hand bequeaths miracles, forgiveness and mercy—the left exacts justice and causes the wicked to be punished."

"There are other hunters besides me," Van Helsing began, falling silent as Carl waggled a hand at him.

"Yesyesyes," the friar agreed impatiently. "But none of them were alive 400 years ago. So if we go with what Dracula says—that there must be a balance between good and evil—then it follows that he is your other side. It also makes sense that you'd be able to give him what he most wants…."

"Which is?" Van Helsing stopped, hands on his hips as he faced the friar, eyebrow raised in a sardonic arch. "Revenge? Blood?"

"No…," Carl grinned wickedly as he held up an admonishing finger. "Emotions!" When Van Helsing's bemused air segued into disbelief, Carl caught at his hands, squeezing them hard. "Don't you see? He spoke of missing the sunlight, of missing the opportunity to walk among the living. When he stood over your unconscious body in Limbo he was constantly going on about why you'd chosen to be with me, wondering why you felt as you did. I got the impression that he was remembering your lives together on the battlefield and couldn't figure out why his sword brother would choose to saddle himself with a lowly peaceful friar."

Van Helsing snorted, but he squeezed Carl's hands in return. "He doesn't know you like I do if he thinks you're lowly or peaceful."

"Yes, well that's just as well," Carl murmured but a pleased smile touched his mouth and lit up his eyes.

Benerd sidled up diffidently. "Actually, I can see what Carl is saying. I'm sure that Dracula wants to leave Hell and regain his…er….life…on the mortal plain. But I also got the distinct impression that he was remembering and was perplexed by the feelings he was undergoing. Apparently, being around you is reawakening them. That would be very powerful and could be very valuable to him."

"Ja, it _does_ make sense," Mavis interjected. "We can use this ourselves. Paul wishes to punish you in the name of the Church, for the suffering it brought upon him. Dracula has the opportunity to have his emotions reawakened, to have the trade-off he had to make for eternal life nullified. He would have it all then. Their goals are mutually exclusive-perhaps we can use that."

"Pit Dracula against Paul?" Van Helsing murmured. "It seems a little farfetched." Dropping Carl's hands, the hunter turned back to the muddy plains and continued on, followed closely by the others who spoke excitedly among themselves.

"Not necessarily farfetched," Carl enthused. "We know that Paul can't be killed….er…."

"Go on," Mavis tutted impatiently at the abashed friar. "I know what must be done, you will not say anything that will dismay or shock me."

"Oh…well, I was just going to say that we know that Paul can't be killed by ordinary means. He seems to be able to heal almost instantaneously. It would take extraordinary measures to kill him before he could regenerate."

"I wish that I could get a sample of his blood," Benerd sighed. "It would be fascinating to study exactly _how_ he regenerates."

Mavis shrugged. "He has demon blood. You study demons, you should be able to figure it out."

"Yes," Benerd nodded, "I suppose so. Most demons come to me after they're dead, though, so I don't often get a chance to study that ability since they're already…well…_dead_. Regeneration doesn't come in handy for them any longer, you know."

"When they're dead, they don't regenerate," Van Helsing interrupted. "Got it. In the mean time, we appear to be approaching something. Carl, what is that?"

Carl pushed forward to stand by Van Helsing's side. Before them, the muddy plain opened out to a vast river of what appeared to be flowing mud. And before that, a huge seated demon with a long tail sat, apparently waiting for them.

"Oh that…." Carl gulped nervously. "That…that would be Minos. He's there to tell us what level of Hell we'll be sent to."

"Eh?" Van Helsing's gaze moved from the beast to Carl as Benerd made an '_Eeep_" noise and Mavis scowled.

"Well, we all have to go sometime," Carl quavered, gesturing at the waiting figure. "Think of this as an advance preview of where you'll be headed."

TBC


	15. Blood Wars Part 15

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: Van Helsing and Carl pass Minos but are captured before they can cross Styx**

Notes: Major plot elements. This chapter is, unfortunately, one of those 'necessary' mostly-dialogue, no action things that move the plot along. I hope you'll bear with me, the next chapter should be much better.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: ****Nikoru Sanzo**, **Runts Gal, ****Gnome, ****Karuna Icefire, ****Dreamweaver, ****Iblis**_  
**  
Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 15**

The four travelers stood knee-deep in muck and mud, none of them any more eager to go on than the other. Carl's shocking admission that the beast they would next face had the power to show them what their future might be in Hell was enough to make them all reticent to continue.

The vista before them was mild enough-only more of the mud flats debouching onto a mercifully silent and steady earthen plain upon which curled a dark form that appeared to be so still it might have been a statue. Beyond that, they could see the inviting glitter of the River Styx that reminded them all that they were tired and thirsty and in urgent need of more pleasing venues.

Van Helsing caught Carl's sleeve, pulling the little friar about to face him with a stern expression.

"I think you need to give us a little more information, Carl. Exactly what is it that we should be expecting when we face that thing?"

The friar squirmed and shrugged, his eyes unwillingly traveling back over their intended path to rest on the dark figure ahead.

"I'm not really sure. My studies say that this area should be plagued by winds and hurricanes of enormous strength."

The hunter nodded judiciously before reaching up to his own head to thoughtfully pluck a hair free. Holding out his hand, he allowed the hair to fall free—all four companions watched the strand float gently but unerringly to the muddy ground.

"No hurricanes, Carl. Not even a puff of wind," the hunter remarked.

"Yes, I know that," Carl huffed. "I can see that very well, thank you! But that's what we should be seeing next if my research is correct."

"Could we be lost?" Benerd asked, his hands clutching themselves in front of him.

"_Nein_," Mavis answered before Carl could. "There is no other place to go, no choice of roads. I do not think there is a way to avoid the judge that faces us. His presence is meant as both a comfort and a danger. That is the way of your Hell, Ja?"

"Ja," Carl sighed, with a quick smile for the witch's snort of rueful humor. "Minos was originally recorded as part mortal and part godly—his birth was Pagan and he ruled over a Pagan kingdom. He was said to be a zealous and devoted judge of others' crimes, his justice was absolute. The only thing that swayed him was repentance. When he died, he was made a judge in Hell, though his aspect was warped to strike fear in the poor souls who had to face him."

"He doesn't seem too terribly fearful…." Benerd remarked as he peered myopically over the intervening distance with interest. "He appears to be a statue of some sort."

"Don't be fooled," Mavis said darkly. "Remember the devil has the power to appear in many forms. I think that as we get closer, we will find Carl's hurricanes manifest and this judge will prove to be every bit as fearsome."

Van Helsing sighed, his hand stealing beneath his heavy coat to rub gingerly at his throbbing shoulder. Between the pain of his wound and the weariness of their journey, he was finding his patience with the supernatural was wearing thin. Grimly, he started forward again, each footstep requiring that he pull his mired foot from the slough underfoot with a disgusting sucking noise to replace it in an equally dismal trench one pace beyond.

The others followed in his wake, growing more tired and dispirited by the moment. Carl, whether in an effort to keep their minds off their slog or to better prepare them, went on telling them about his studies of the waiting guardian.

"Minos is supposed to be some sort of half-human half-serpent creature who listens to the confessions of the souls who come before him and then assigns them their permanent place of penitence. There were several allusions to a jar from which he pulls a tape containing the life history and the fate of that person's afterlife. In either case, supposedly, the souls are marked at the time of their death, if they haven't repented, by the sin they died under. They retain all the qualities that they are damned for through all eternity so that their sin is always apparent. That's assuming though that this will follow the scenario set forth in the works I studied. But they were works of fiction—Hell has never been actually mapped…."

"Maybe, as Mavis says, enough people believe in the basic principles of what's been written to sort of set this place in stone. I can't say I'm impressed by the results of the average man's imagination, though," Benerd muttered. "If I'm going to imagine a place where I'll pay for my sins, I don't think I'd make it quite so…well…Hellish."

Van Helsing snorted, the sound of which made the rotund monk blush and duck his head. The hunter, up ahead, didn't notice. "All the monsters I've met were black enough in their own souls to make this place seem very tame. It's only when they die that they become the men they were and their grasp of Hell shrinks to this. We're seeing the Hell of mortals—I don't think we've seen the Hell of monsters yet. After that, you might think this place isn't so hellish."

"Oh, why did he have to say _that_," Benerd moaned confidingly to Carl, who patted the monk's shoulder comfortingly.

Their progress was pitifully slow and it seemed to be hours before they'd covered what had first appeared to be the small distance to the dark figure's resting place. When they approached within a few yards, the ground grew firm and they felt the first stirrings of the air about them.

"Here it comes," Van Helsing commented grimly as he stepped thankfully up onto the solid grey ground. Turning he helped each traveler in turn, having to physically pull Benerd free with Carl's help from the sucking mire. Once they were all safely on firm ground, the hunter took Carl's hand, explaining when the friar looked startled, "If this place really is a place of hurricanes, I don't want us to get separated. We should try to hang onto one another."

Dutifully, and with a degree of eagerness for the comfort of a friend's touch, the companions linked hands and faced the still form only yards away. The air was swirling in a strong breeze, but nothing like the violence of a hurricane. And Minos still appeared as only a statue carved out of some dark non-reflective material. But there was a decided air of menace about them now that made the hair on their bodies rise and the sense of danger coil in their stomachs.

Van Helsing took the first step forward and almost immediately was besieged by violent gusts of wind that tore at his clothing and hair. His free hand immediately sprang up to snatch his hat as it was torn from his head. He squinted his eyes and looked back, noting with interest that the other three still stood in a relative calm only one pace back, their mouths hanging ludicrously as they took in his wildly flapping coat and hair.

Setting his teeth and tightening his grip on Carl, the hunter ducked his head and moved forward; he felt it when Carl was seized by the winds, the friar's hand tightening almost painfully about his as he battled the gusts that tore at him. Benerd's and Van Helsing's solid weight proved a blessing to the lighter friar and witch who clung to their respective anchors firmly. Benerd ended up putting an arm about Mavis' waist to hold her steady and the witch appeared to appreciate it. Her dark hair had been torn from its pristine bun and now snapped about her head in a black glittering cloud, yanking determinedly at its roots in a way that looked quite painful.

Another few steps further in and they began to hear shrieks and wailings that made them want to reach for their weapons, only the necessity of maintaining their hold on one another keeping them from doing so. The turbulence and the frenzy of sound in their ears were maddening, but it also precluded any chance to speak with one another so they ventured on in grim determined silence toward the judge of Hell.

* * *

They had approached within a few yards when the apparent statue came to life and the head on the coiled form slowly turned to them. The instant the dead black eyes met theirs, the foursome's gazes dropped like stones to the ground and the wind abruptly stopped, though they could still hear its screaming as though from a long distance away, mingled with the cries of the damned. 

The dark shape of Minos seemed to churn and expand, unraveling into vast coils that glittered now with colors of bronze and black gold. They could see scales emerge from the seeming smooth surface, and the thick coils pulsed and moved with life and breath that made their mouths go dry.

Dragged against their wills, their eyes traveled up the spiraling coils that gradually grew larger until they were thicker than a man's waist. The scales merged into a torso of a man with yellow mottled skin whose body was limned with beautiful gleaming muscles but whose stomach and ribs were so sunken as to seem like a skeleton-the torso undulated before their eyes, both obscene and serpentine in its motions. It fascinated and repelled the companions so that it was a relief now to raise their eyes over the strong bulky shoulders and thickly muscled arms to the neck wrinkled and thickly veined and then, finally, the massive head.

Rising to at least 20 feet above them, Minos looked down on them with slitted eyes. His face was both human and reptilian, being complete devoid of any hair and without a nose of any type; he opened a black-scaled mouth and hissed through long serrated fangs.

"Oh You! Who come to the region of pain, do you know where you enter and whom to trust?"

It was a relief to tear their eyes from the gaze of Minos and turn them instead on the pale and shaking friar who could only make a small "_Eeep"_ing noise and draw his head down as much as possible into the twisted cowl neck of his robe.

Van Helsing's mouth thinned in a determined line as he looked back up at the waiting judge of Hell.

"We're here to pass through this region, not to be judged by you. We have errands…."

"Halt mortal!" Minos growled, his coils now beginning to shake loose from their moorings to spread out in a manner that revealed a huge metal jar, polished to mirror gleaming by the action of the coils over centuries. "All who come before me are judged. You enter Hell, alive or dead, you must face the judgment of it."

"No!" the hunter called, moving to stand before the others. "I brought them here on an errand of God. If you judge anyone for that, you'll judge me alone."

Carl started to protest only to break off as Van Helsing's grip, still about his fingers, tightened hard enough to make him writhe voicelessly.

The monster seemed to flow down over itself, bonelessly supple, until his bald head drew level with Van Helsing's. Separated by inches, the huge head of the monster easily as large as Van Helsing's torso, the two locked gazes.

"Then confess your sins to me," Minos hissed, and his eyes abruptly flared brilliantly white.

Van Helsing seemed locked into the gaze, swaying silently, all color blanching from his skin until he was an odd parchment white. Carl, holding his hand tightly, felt the warmth and strength leave the hunter's fingers so that it seemed the hand about his became like the senseless rigid clasp of a skeleton. He still clung to it, rubbing hard at the pale flesh beneath his fingers trying to warm it, and gradually it did warm.

Minos withdrew, flowing upwards to his lofty vantage again to look down at Van Helsing thoughtfully. The hunter abruptly blinked and shivered so strongly they could hear his teeth chatter.

"Gabriel?" Carl asked and felt Van Helsing gratefully moved back to stand against him, pressing himself tightly to Carl's body.

Minos' hiss of speech made them all jump.

"You are indeed what you claim to be, Left Hand of God," the judge of Hell said, his slitted eyes once more turned dark and lifeless. "Your fate is still being written. Be aware though that if you persist in your plan to best your enemy, you will be facing me again soon and be judged for all eternity."

Carl blinked and stretched over Van Helsing's intervening shoulder to meet Minos' gaze himself. "What do you mean? Are you saying that we can't beat Paul without sentencing ourselves to Hell?"

Van Helsing moved as if to push Carl back but Minos raised one claw-fingered hand.

"Halt. He has asked a question, and I shall answer truthfully. Be aware that if you call upon Hell's gifts to best your foe, you will be received by Hell most welcome and end up taking the place of those who gifted you. You cannot avoid this."

Minos then paused, his gaze on Carl steadfast for several silent seconds before he spoke again.

"The rest of you will face your own challenges and some will be struck down. They will return to me for passage to the Elysium Fields. Now be on your way."

With the dismissal, the wailing winds were abruptly tearing at them again and the towering supple flesh of Minos became once again a tightly curled sullen statue of the blackest basalt.

Unable to speak or do more than bow their heads against the buffeting winds, the foursome moved past Minos; leaning into the hurricane so that their bodies were almost perpendicular to the ground, they forced their way onwards.

When Carl looked up once, eyes slitted and watering freely, he saw the swirling ribbons of air take on shapes of writhing bodies pressed to one another in acts of lust while their misty faces echoed not satisfaction but torment. With the blink of his eyes, the shapes were gone and suddenly they were all falling flat onto the ground, rolling over unforgiving stones helplessly until they piled up atop one another hard against an immovable object.

Beneath the other four, Van Helsing groaned and heard corresponding groans and mutterings from the others, particularly Benerd who was moaning as if in pain. Gingerly, they untangled, aware now that the only sounds came from themselves. There was an ominous watchful quality to the silence that caused Van Helsing to struggle to free himself with more vigor than he might have otherwise. Heedless of Benerd's cries and several inspired curses from Carl, the hunter pushed free to allow himself to half rise and look about. It didn't take much to identify what had made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

All about them stood men in silver armor with black crosses drawn on their breasts; their weapons were drawn and pointed down at the tangled foursome at their feet.

* * *

While swords were held at their necks, they were surrounded and roughly hauled to their feet, their arms bound behind their backs. Benerd, it turned out, had injured his leg and couldn't stand on his own. Nevertheless, he was still bound, though he was afterwards supported by two silent captors. 

Their belongings were confiscated, even Van Helsing's coat. The stash of weapons contained in the garment raised a mutter among their captors and the foursome had to put up with a thorough and often embarrassing search of their persons after that.

The last indignity was to have a thick rope of hemp placed around their necks and drawn tight to their flesh so that it chafed their skin bloody. The rope linked them securely together and the end was given over to the evident commander of the troupe that had captured them.

Carl tried to speak to their captors but was stopped almost at once when a rough gag was thrust into his mouth and tied tightly behind his head. The others took their lesson from Carl's treatment and kept their mouths shut, thus avoiding the same.

The troupe's leader seemed well pleased; a grim smile was on his face as he surveyed his catch. He didn't speak to them though; instead, the body of men formed a hollow box about their captives and proceeded to march them forward.

Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. They had emerged from the region of winds but they had not arrived at the glittering river Styx they had seen in the distance before. Instead, they had apparently arrived in a city that had been invisible until they'd had the misfortune to stumble upon it. Unlike Limbo, this city was no wood-hut village, but rather made of stone and beneath their feet was milled cobbles.

There was something tantalizingly familiar about the massive stone edifices that pressed all around them. Carl stared up at their towering facades trying to wrack his brain for the answer but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Mutely, he glanced across at Van Helsing, but the hunter only shook his head, a very grim expression on his face that quelled Carl's curiosity immediately. Carl had no doubt the hunter knew this place and Van Helsing wasn't at all pleased to be there.

They emerged from the tight street into a massive open courtyard and were treated to the horrific sight of a frame strung with restraints from which hung a young woman, naked to the waist, who was being scourged with whips by two men. Snaking about the yard was a procession of people, their bodies also naked to the waist, their faces covered with white cloths, apparently waiting their turns to be scourged as well.

The guards that surrounded the foursome would not allow them to stop or speak with any of the waiting supplicants before the pillory. They were marched through the center of the yard and through the tall black iron gates at the head of the yard.

When they emerged from the gates, the majority of the guard remained behind; twelve men led Van Helsing and his party through the smaller courtyard into a square building. The interior of the building was cold unadorned stone, set in two levels with the bottom only a bare well punctured with black doors while the top level circled it so that apparently onlookers could look down on those in the well.

Carl was getting a very nasty feeling about their situation and it didn't help his morbid worries when their guards forced the four travelers to kneel, side by side, facing the far end of the well and a large plain red door.

Benerd, whose injured leg wouldn't let him kneel, was struck down so that he had to lie flat out on the cold stone, moaning. When Van Helsing tried to stop the abuse against the monk, he was held down by their captors with a sword at his throat.

The well was lit with flickering torches that smoked and were set too far apart to provide adequate lighting. When the red door opened to admit a tall man into the well, Carl could make very little of him out, only that he appeared to be dressed in white. Peering through the haze and twisting shadows Carl was able to make out the fact the man also wore a black cloak over his white habit. His stomach twisted in a painful knot as he heard Van Helsing spit out the word "Torquemada".

* * *

Torquemada approached the four travelers and Carl was able to at last get a decent view of the man. He was of middle height with an olive complexion and large dark eyes that seemed unexpectedly gentle. It was easy to imagine this man, who was notorious for his leading the atrocities of the Spanish Inquisition in the latter 1400s, being able to wring tearful confessions from his victims by promising them pity and mercy. His mouth also had a gentle curve to it that seemed to promise an easy smile. Carl wondered if Torquemada smiled equally as easy for pain or pleasure. 

As he approached his dark eyes assessed them individually starting at the left of their line, with Mavis. He approached the witch who watched him silently, head held high. Thoughtfully, Torquemada gathered a handful of Mavis' loose black hair, allowing the dark strands to pour from his fingers like water. When the last strand fell, he gestured to his guards, who immediately pulled Mavis to her feet and turned her about so that her back was to the Inquisitor General. With his own hands, Torquemada caught the neck of Mavis' bodice and ripped it down the back, exposing her bare shoulders and the cruel white scars that criss-crossed her flesh.

The gentle smile that crossed Torquemada's lips made Carl want to retch.

With a negligent flick of a finger, Torquemada stepped back and his guard severed the rope binding the witch to the three men and dragged her to one of the black doors, passing through it without a word. When Van Helsing and Carl would have risen and protested, they were shoved brutally back down to their knees and swords were pressed into their flesh so that their necks ran red.

The Inquisitor next stopped before the prone Benerd, one dark eyebrow rising as he viewed the monk prostrated at his feet. The guard standing to either side of Benerd bent and hauled the monk upright to reveal his pasty white sweating face. Benerd moaned in agony as he hopped on his left leg, trying to spare his injured right.

"You are injured?" The soft rolling sibilants of Torquemada's speech proved he had not lost the beautiful accents of his native Spain.

"I…I think my leg is broken," Benerd groaned. "I must have fallen wrong…"

"Hmm. I will be brief then, to spare you unnecessary pain. You are a monk?"

"Y..yes," Benerd stuttered, and then licked his pale lips. "At the Vatican in Rome."

"Ah! Roma! It has been long since I was graced to see her. I will look forward to chatting with you, after your injuries have been looked at. Please forgive me that I can offer you nothing but a humble cell—we are not equipped to house the faithful in fashion, I'm afraid."

"Nono," Benerd shook his head emphatically. "I don't require fashion; I'm quite used to the poverty of my station."

"Just so," Torquemada nodded approvingly. "Very well. Take him, gently, to a cell. Make sure he is seen to."

Benerd's tether was severed from the other two men's and he was removed, as Mavis had been, through a black door.

Carl found his knees were shaking so badly that he could hardly remain upright upon them. He was almost grateful when he was hauled up by his guards to stand before the Inquisitor.

"You, also, are a religious?" Torquemada queried softly.

"Yes," Carl answered softly. "A friar, also at the Vatican."

"Ah. This is an odd place for a friar. And you will forgive my noting that you are still very much alive. Why are you here?"

"We…we've come on an errand from the Pope…to find another living man who has sought refuge in Hell. He..he's a cambion who's declared war on the Vatican, on the Order, and has to be stopped before…"

Torquemada halted Carl's explanation with a raised finger before turning away to thoughtfully pace forwards and back, his dark eyes lowered meditatively to the floor as if hoping to find answers there. When he spoke again, it was in a soft thoughtful manner.

"I would like to believe you are an emissary from Roma, here to battle evil on behalf of God. There are few of us in this benighted place who, for whatever reason, find ourselves still battling evil within the very demesnes of the devil. It is a fact; God sees fit to send his lambs into the lion's den upon occasion. Still…I must be sure. You understand."

"Ah…" Carl breathed, unable to think of a suitable reply. He was spared any further efforts when Torquemada turned unexpectedly to Van Helsing, studying his down-turned face with a perplexed air. The guards helpfully dragged the hunter to his feet and abruptly the Inquisitor General's face was wreathed in a broad smile.

"Gabriel!" Eagerly, Torquemada stepped forward to hug the hunter, apparently not noting the man's rigid stance nor his expression of revulsion. The Inquisitor's embrace was enthusiastic and when he at last released Van Helsing, he seized his shoulders firmly in an outwardly delighted grip as he smiled at the other man. "You disappeared! I had them search for you endlessly. Where did you go?"

"There was something I had to attend to, first," Van Helsing spoke woodenly, without his usual warmth. Torquemada didn't appear to notice. He shook his head, tsking lightly.

"There could be nothing that was more important than dealing with the Lord's work," he intoned. "You were placed at my disposal; you were to be my especial tool in the service of the Inquisition, granted to me by special dispensation from the Pope himself. What could have been more important than that?"

Van Helsing made no answer; Carl fought to keep his own jaw from dropping. Gabriel? A hunter for the _Spanish_ _Inquisition_? Even putting aside the incredible thought that this was proof Van Helsing had actually been alive over 400 years ago, this newest revelation was…. Carl mentally shook himself; reminding his roiling thoughts that Van Helsing had never hidden the fact that he detested the _Domini Canes_. Certainly, he would never have willingly served Torquemada—that would explain why the hunter had disappeared apparently.

As if the thought were just occurring to Torquemada, the Inquisitor General's hands dropped from Van Helsing's shoulders and the thoughtful expression Carl was already coming to recognize and dread reappeared.

"Gabriel…. I could have used your help. Even if you did have, by some miracle, a task that you could not forsake, surely when it was completed you would have then come to me. You never did, despite orders from the Pope himself. Did you forget your duty? Did you forget the oath you swore?"

The guard had to force Van Helsing back down to his knees and it took three to hold him there. With a smile of ineffable sadness, Torquemada approached the hunter to smooth one hand over his hair, lightly fingering the tangled dark strands before sliding down over Van Helsing's temple and cheek to his chin to pull the hunter's darkened face up.

"Did you forget your oath?" the Spaniard smiled. "You may renew it now, then. You may take your place at my side, to battle the enemies of the true faith."

Torquemada released Van Helsing's chin to raise his hand to the hunter's mouth. On his index finger was a ring that Carl recognized from some of the older texts he had studied. The raised insignia of an office granted by the Pope flickered in the torchlight as did the Inquisitor's dark eyes.

"Press your lips to the sigil, Gabriel. Swear again your allegiance to me, to do my bidding as you were once sworn to do by Roma."

It was obvious to Carl's horrified gaze that the hunter had no intentions of submitting to the Inquisitor General; it must have been equally obvious to the guard standing behind the hunter because he seized a handful of Van Helsing's dark hair and attempted to force his mouth down onto the ring's face. Van Helsing fought the grip, turning his face away with a growl and Torquemada signaled for the guard to release his hold. With a grim air, Van Helsing straightened, lifting his eyes to the Inquisitor with an unmistakable air of defiance.

"Ah. I understand your 'task' well now," the Spaniard smiled. "I think it will be a pleasure to teach you the error of your ways."

"You can try," Van Helsing growled.

Now Torquemada turned back to Carl.

"You journey with a witch, a heretic and a lame glutton of a monk. Will _you_ prove to me that you are loyal to the office I hold?"

"Er…," Carl swallowed, and then carefully shook his head. "No...I don't think so," he sighed.

Torquemada folded his hands neatly before him and stepped back with an air of regret that didn't quite mask the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Very well. Take them both to the cells below. Do not separate them—let them discuss what will be coming to them, to see if they can persuade one another to a less drastic course."

Van Helsing was dragged to his feet and both he and Carl were marched away, through the black door.

TBC


	16. Blood Wars Part 16

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The foursome are sundered and Van Helsing and Carl resume their journey**

Notes: This one hurt. I hope that you'll bear with me through it.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewer ****Jania**_  
_

**_Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word_**

* * *

**Blood Wars 16**

Van Helsing's and Carl's entry into the dank noisome hole that was to be their cell was accomplished quickly and violently. Without disengaging the tether about their necks or unbinding their arms, the two men were thrown through the door, down a flight of steep uneven stairs to land in a half-choked heap at the bottom. The two lay still for some time, gradually catching their breath. When able, they eased up to a seated position, pressed back to back.

"I can't say I like this much," Carl commented ruefully into the darkness and found some comfort in the equally rueful snort of laughter that made the hunter's back rock against his own.

"I don't think you're supposed to like it," Van Helsing sighed as he looked about, the taint in his blood allowing him to easily pick out the depressing amenities their cell had to offer.

Carl leaned his head back, nestling it into the curve of Van Helsing's neck and shoulder. "Gabriel, I'm sorry. There wasn't anything in any of the texts I read about this."

"It's alright, Carl," the hunter sighed. "I think this is probably one of the special challenges Mavis mentioned. "Part of the blood wars we were to expect."

"Ah," Carl licked his lips, then ventured, "Er, Gabriel, this _does_ make it look like you were alive 400 years ago. Don't you think?"

"Mmm. I think we should see if we can get loose. We need to find a way out of here to locate Mavis and Benerd."

Carl's reply came out as a squeak when Van Helsing's wriggling tightened the rope about their necks briefly before the length of slack that had been between them came free. Immediately, there were more violent squirmings and wrigglings behind Carl—it felt as if Van Helsing were attempting to stand on his head and all the while the rope about their necks got tighter and tighter. Just when Carl was beginning to suspect the hunter of attempting to cheat Torquemada and strangle them both, the struggles behind him ended and the rope was suddenly being blessedly loosened and pulled off over his head.

Strong fingers then settled at the ropes about Carl's wrists, yanking and prying at the hard knots until enough slack had been gained that Carl could slip his hand through the loops.

He turned immediately to see Van Helsing sitting, still bound but with his hands in front of him proffering them to Carl.

"My turn," the hunter remarked.

It took some moments to work the dense knots loose enough to allow Van Helsing to slip his hands free. Once that was done, the ropes were tossed to the side and both men allowed themselves a moment's reprieve to catch their breaths and grin at one another. It was at that moment that Carl noted he could actually **_see_** his friend's features and the awful aspect of the cell. Considering there were no torches or windows of any kind to let the light from outside in, this seemed a noteworthy accomplishment.

"Er, Gabriel," Carl murmured, "I…I can see you."

"Congratulations," the hunter remarked dryly. "Since I'm sitting right in front of you…."

"Nononono," Carl interrupted, raising one hand to forestall the hunter's sardonic humor only to end up staring at his own fingers, which he could see quite clearly. "I mean…I can **_see_** you…. And everything else. Considering that there isn't any light in here, I don't think I should be able to do that."

"Mmm…well…about that, Carl," the hunter sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before emerging to fix Carl with a half smile.

The friar blinked, noting that he could see the faint green glow in his friend's eyes that marked the taint in his blood. Certainly it was there, but it wasn't strong enough to light up the room.

"Doesn't it seem a bit odd that I can see in a perfectly black room?" Carl asked, intrigued. "It **_is_** perfectly black, isn't it? I mean, there isn't any glowing lichen or the odd torch I'm missing, is there?"

"No, no lichen or torches," Van Helsing murmured, an odd tone to his voice that made Carl's gaze return to fix upon his friend.

"What is it? I'm not dead am I?"

"No, you're not dead, Carl. Not technically, anyway," Van Helsing grunted and pushed himself to his feet to extend one hand down to the friar who rather dazedly took it.

"Gabriel…." Carl followed his friend up the stairs, to stand behind him as the hunter knelt to study the large iron lock on their door. "What aren't you saying?"

The hunter only made a grunting noise as he probed at the lock with a finger then reached down to detach his watch chain from his vest. Selecting one of the religious insignias attached to the chain, he inserted it into the lock and waggled it about.

"Er, Gabriel-are you attempting to pick that lock with the Star of David?"

"Seems appropriate, considering Torquemada's stand on Jews, doesn't it," Van Helsing muttered with a wry good humor that seemed vastly out of place to Carl given their circumstances.

"I'm not entirely certain that's not some sort of sacrilege," Carl remarked, then sighed, "Though I _am_ certain that if it should work, I won't be the one to complain."

"That makes two of us." Van Helsing made a little twisting motion, then probed deeper into the lock and was rewarded with the sound of a clanking noise. Rising to his feet, he pulled the Star free and reattached it to his watch chain and then to his vest.

"Is it open?" Carl asked and was answered by Van Helsing gently pushing the door open slightly. "Ohhh!" Carl breathed and grinned at the hunter with delight.

Van Helsing peered through the slit into the corridor as he listened carefully for any sound. Pushing the door open slightly further, he placed his face at the opening and sniffed at the stale air flowing into their fusty cell from outside. He could smell mold, blood, and stale urine, but that was all. Beneath him, Carl had pressed forward to apply an eye and a nose to the opening and was making sounds of disgust.

"It reeks out there," the friar complained.

"It _is_ a prison, Carl," Van Helsing reminded the friar fondly.

"Sooner out the better, then," Carl said determinedly and pushed the door further open to slip past Van Helsing and out into the corridor. The hunter followed immediately, catching Carl's wrist to keep him close by while he pushed the door to behind them.

"Don't wander off," Van Helsing cautioned, and then set off down the narrow stone hall, followed closely by a snuffling snorting friar.

They passed several cell doors, and paused to inspect each only to find the doors always opened easily and the cells were always empty with a scent that suggested it had been a long time since it had last held an occupant.

They'd traversed a few hundred feet without alarm when Carl stopped abruptly, catching Van Helsing's arm.

"Someone's coming," he hissed, and dragged the hunter backwards toward the last cell they had inspected. They barely had time to slip inside and pull the door to when footsteps rang out on the stone and shortly after a contingent of guards marched by, heading back along the route Van Helsing and Carl had just traversed.

"One guess where they're going," Van Helsing observed grimly. "Come on."

Grasping Carl's arm firmly, the hunter pulled him from the cell and set off at a dead run down the corridor.

Carl wheezed as he tried to keep his footfalls light, almost falling on his backside when Van Helsing abruptly made a 90-degree turn down an unexpected branching.

"D-do we know where we're going?" he panted, then "Oh!"

"Benerd!" Van Helsing announced at the same instant. They passed the first two cell doors without hesitation, stopping at the third. Benerd's door was thankfully less well-fortified, being held shut with only a metal crossbar. Lifting it easily, the two men opened the door and slid inside.

The monk was flat out on a narrow poor cot that sagged beneath his weight. His leg had been seen to, but beyond that nothing had been done to make the monk more comfortable, not even water.

Benerd looked up as the light abruptly spilled in from the outer corridor, his mouth falling open as Van Helsing and Carl appeared in the next instant.

"You! How…"

"Never mind, we have to get out of here," Carl replied and grabbed one of Benerd's arms at the same time Van Helsing seized the other. Both pulled simultaneously, catching the monk's weight as he fulcrumed off the bed onto his good leg to hop between them. His resulting groan of agony made Carl wince with sympathy, but they still hustled the monk out of the cell, not even bothering to close and rebolt the door behind them.

"Mavis," Carl panted. "Where would they have her?"

Van Helsing grimly surveyed the hallway, uncertainly. It was Benerd who unexpectedly answered Carl's question.

"She'd be down this hall and then take the first left."

Van Helsing didn't bother to question Benerd's information, instead setting off immediately. Carl followed as best he could, though he managed to spare some breath from supporting his half of the monk for questions.

"How do you know?" he huffed and Benerd managed a sickly smile.

"In my studies…I remember reading about the Spanish Inquisition. This place…it appears to be an exact replica."

"Ugh," Carl remarked and was seconded by Benerd.

They found the requisite turning and had just made it when they all heard the shrieks of a woman in agony.

"Mavis!" Carl cried, and then staggered as Van Helsing suddenly released Benerd's weight completely and bolted toward the sound.

"Leave me here!" the monk panted. "He might need help!"

Gratefully Carl maneuvered Benerd to lean against a wall and then set off after Van Helsing at a dead run.

He could smell the sickening sweet scent of copious amounts of blood and the stink of fear and pain. It assaulted him like a blow and made him stagger and almost vomit. Instead, he swallowed the rising bile with a gulp and then threw himself at the open door that appeared before him.

The room was almost too much to take in.

The first thing he saw was Van Helsing struggling with two guards and Torquemada himself. Two more guards were on the ground and judging by the odd tilt of their heads they wouldn't be rising again. A guard almost immediately sailed past Carl upon his entry, another casualty.

Carl saw that Van Helsing had been forced back against a wall, as he fought the remaining guard; Torquemada took the opportunity to seize one of the iron manacles hanging from the wall and swung it like a club, connecting with Van Helsing's wounded shoulder. The hunter's agonized cry reverberated in the chamber; Torquemada took the opportunity to seize one of Van Helsing's wrists and thrust it into the manacle, closing the iron circle with a loud snap, then leapt back as the hunter rounded on him with a snarl.

The remaining guard attempted to emulate the Inquisitor, catching at Van Helsing's remaining free wrist with the intent to finish chaining him to the wall only to have the same hand snatched away and the hunter's strong fingers closed about his throat. A dull sickening crack whispered through the room and then the guard dropped at Van Helsing's feet.

Carl looked about and spotted a poker resting in a brazier of glowing red coals. He didn't stop to wonder at its use; instead pulling it free to lift above his head, he glided toward the Grand Inquisitor.

Torquemada didn't notice the friar. His attention was on Van Helsing who was wrenching at the cuff about his wrist without any luck.

"You won't free yourself, Gabriel. I'll finish with the witch, I owe her that. And then we'll discuss the oath you still owe me."

Van Helsing snarled at the man, white teeth bared as a savage green light appeared in his eyes. Torquemada stared, fascinated.

"It appears that you won't be eligible for that oath after all," the Inquisitor marveled before his dark eyes abruptly rolled up into his skull and he sank bonelessly to the ground.

Carl dropped the poker and hurried to Van Helsing's side. When the hunter, still enraged, snarled at his touch, Carl found himself snarling back.

Instantly, Van Helsing subsided, the glow fading from his eyes as he met Carl's gaze silently for the space of a heartbeat before speaking.

"Leave me here for now. Go help Mavis. She's in the next room."

Carl nodded, biting his lip as he thrust down the unexpected surge of primal rage brought on by the scents of violence and blood all about him. Without answering, he turned and hurried into the next chamber, steeling himself for what he knew by the smell of blood had to be waiting.

Mavis' body hung from iron manacles that depended from the ceiling. Her back was a bloody open wound through which white bone gleamed. Her long black hair had been shorn off and hung in ragged wisps about her shoulders.

The rage that assailed Carl made him snarl and howl and he leapt to the witch's side, seizing her bound hand by the manacle and yanking downwards with all his strength, tearing the chain from it's mooring with a screech of rending metal. The witch sagged lifelessly against him and he reached again to tear the other chain free.

Both he and Mavis dropped then, to the bloody floor, as he cradled her to him and wept in rage and pity that boiled out of him in a gasping scream.

He didn't hear Van Helsing arrive, but he knew the instant he wasn't alone any longer and welcomed the hunter's hands on his back, stroking his hair, helping him cradle Mavis' body. The hot tears that fell on her tortured flesh were equally Van Helsing's as was the grief that acknowledged her pain.

Benerd arrived soon after, his hesitant steps and the clank of metal announced he'd found something to use as a crutch.

"I…I…," the monk swallowed, then started again, stronger this time. "We need to get her back to Minos. He can send her…send us both to the Elysium Fields. Her wounds can be healed there."

Carl and Van Helsing's gazes rose to Benerd's and he quailed at the green light that gleamed in both, but he still took another hobbling step closer.

"I know that she's close to death—but she's not dead yet. He wouldn't have been torturing a corpse. We have to get her to Minos, now."

Van Helsing's gaze dropped first and turned to Carl.

"He's right. Let's get her up, you carry Mavis, I'll take Benerd."

The friar nodded and rose with Van Helsing's help, settling Mavis carefully in his arms; Van Helsing removed his vest and wrapped it about the witch.

"I found your coat…and our weapons," Benerd volunteered. "In the other room."

They retraced their steps to the outer chamber. Carl noted immediately that Van Helsing had chained Torquemada to the same wall the Inquisitor had intended to chain the hunter to. He found a powerful longing rising within him to hurt the man as he had hurt Mavis. Van Helsing's fingers on his arm, pulling him away, recalled Carl from the blood lust that thundered through his veins and the friar shuddered as he turned away.

Reclaiming his coat, the hunter pulling it on and then collected all of their packs, including Mavis'. The last thing he did was to prime and ready his crossbow before pulling Benerd's arm about his shoulder.

"Your wound," the monk protested, then fell silent as the green gaze turned to him. This close, he could sense the feral beast just barely contained. He also realized that that beast would never be turned against himself; he belonged to the pack the beast had chosen for himself as much as Carl and Mavis did. He found that thought both awe-inspiring and worrisome. He would need to be certain that he never did anything that would disgrace the place he had won.

Their progress through the maze of corridors was a nightmare, punctuated with flickering torchlight and the sounds of men dying. It occurred to Benerd to wonder how these men _could_ die as they were already in Hell. Perhaps because Van Helsing was the Left Hand of God, in this place he could do this. Or possibly, the dead would sleep for awhile and then arise from their second passing as a mortal would an evening's rest.

He didn't know, and he wasn't sure he would ever want to understand.

When they emerged into the great courtyard, no one there even acknowledged their presence. The scourging continued and they left the punishers and their penitents behind.

The narrow alleyways they traversed were almost immediately filled with howling winds and they welcomed it's raw stinging embrace.

Minos was as they had left him, only seeming to come alive as they approached, breaking out of the wind to the place of calm surrounding Hell's judge.

"So you have returned," the monster remarked. "Two of you will leave now, to go to the Elysium Fields?"

"Yes," Carl nodded firmly. "She…Mavis…she'll be alright there?"

The monster's coil opened to expose the metal urn within them. "I am not a mortal or a physician. But all there find peace and freedom from pain."

"That'll do," Van Helsing answered, a growl tainting his voice.

"Place her in the urn," the monster said.

Carl moved forward, stopping briefly to allow Benerd and Van Helsing to touch her one last time, smoothing her matted hair from her face, and then he moved to the urn as instructed and reluctantly, sadly, allowed her body to slip from his arms into its waiting mouth. She disappeared from view easily, and Carl heaved a sigh before stepping back, his arms clasped about his own ribs in a hard hug.

"Now the monk," Minos intoned.

Van Helsing allowed Carl and Benerd the opportunity to clasp hands and then to abruptly hug before he pulled the monk free and helped him to the urn. Standing before its dark mouth he felt the monk shiver and met Benerd's gaze with his own.

The monk blinked at the green glow then sighed and leaned forward to hug the hunter to him, feeling Van Helsing's arms slip about him as well. It felt good and warm and safe and Benerd felt his courage return. When he pulled away, he smiled at Van Helsing and Carl who had come to stand beside them.

"Don't worry," he urged them. "I'll look after Mavis. We'll be fine until you come for us."

The two men nodded in reply and smiles flickered briefly over their grim mouths. Then Benerd turned to Minos.

"I won't be able to fit into that little urn," he remarked doubtfully.

"This is the mouth of fate," Minos answered. "There is room for all eternity. Approach and you will be accepted."

The monk nodded, and released Van Helsing's shoulder, sliding free to fall toward the urn—and disappeared into it.

The hunter and friar stood alone now, and felt the separation like a physical ache.

"You will go now," Minos said to them. His dark gaze turned to Van Helsing. "Remember what I said earlier, man. If you follow the path you have chosen, you will never leave Hell."

Van Helsing hesitated, and then nodded. "I'll face that when I come to it."

"Very well. Until we meet again."

The monster's coils tightened, obscuring the metal urn from their sight as it became like a lifeless statue.

They were now alone, their numbers had been cut in half but they were also almost at the end of their journey.

TBC


	17. Blood Wars Part 17

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: Van Helsing and Carl finalize their plans but their relationship suffers**

Notes:

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Gnome, ****Chibi-Kaz, ****Seadragon, ****Kuruna Ice, ****Countess Verona Dracula, ****Curious Dreamweaver**

**_Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word_**

* * *

**Blood Wars 17**

Carl and Van Helsing ducked their heads as the winds returned to whip and yank at them. The screams of the damned rose all about them, but after having had one of their own so badly injured they now found it difficult to be fazed by the suffering of Hell's inhabitants. Their weapons were in their hands, in preparation for the moment they would leave the windy plain and reemerge into Hell's version of the Spanish Inquisition. Hunching their shoulders against the buffeting gales, they made their way forward, slowly this time, so that the moment when the winds ceased would not catch them unawares. They also angled slightly to the side, away from their original point of departure in the hopes of reemerging into the stony city beyond at a new location.

Whether the city was indeed a challenge that was offered once and never again or their new course simply bypassed it, when the two men emerged from the maelstrom, they found themselves abruptly being deluged beneath a stinking slushy brown rain.

Carl held out his hand and starred at what accumulated in his palm with incredulity. "Shit!"

"Do tell," Van Helsing answered as he pulled his hat down lower to avoid as much of what rained down on them as possible.

Carl made a noise of disgust and swiped his hand against his robe before hastily pulling up his hood. They huddled close to each other so they could be heard and see one another's faces.

"Now what will we face?" Van Helsing shouted with a glowering grimace on his face that matched the friar's.

"You mean besides drowning in excrement?" Carl yelled and then uncharicteristically growled as a sudden and particularly heavy spate of the feculent downpour all but made them invisible to one another for several seconds before easing up again.

Van Helsing shook his head and took Carl's hand firmly, tugging the friar after him as he set off toward the remembered location of the Styx River.

While appreciating the warm clasp of Van Helsing's hand, Carl couldn't help shuddering as the height difference between them made the dirty slush run _up_ his sleeve and pool around his elbow. It felt cold and greasy and he suspected a large amount of the slush was not simply dirty water. When they emerged from this, he was going to have to insist on a bath….

He was also going to have to insist on a talk with Van Helsing. Some things needed to be ironed out between them, not the least of which was Minos' ominous warnings about the possibility of Van Helsing remaining trapped in Hell. Carl was quite capable of ranting and raving until the hunter capitulated. Also, he was still troubled about the hunter's ambiguous answers to his questions in their cell. He _could_ see in the dark…and he had known which cell had been Benerd's and….

Carl shook his head roughly. Too many questions and his head was spinning like a top as it was. It was better to shelve them and wait for a more propitious moment—but he'd make certain that moment came soon.

Rousing himself from his thoughts, Carl's attention once more turned to the area they were making their way through. If his research was correct, this was a fairly innocuous level of hell designed to imprison the unfortunate souls who were guilty of gluttony on a grand scale. Carl found it difficult to imagine gluttony so prodigious that it would merit damnation. He'd seen some dedicated trenchermen during his stay at the Palace, including Benerd, and while a certain awe overtook him when watching them at mealtimes, he hardly thought it warranted a stay in Hell.

Looking about as closely as the falling slush would allow, Carl was intrigued by the brief glimpses of the ground at their feet. It appeared to be a mixture of disgusting muck and swirling water as well as a dense grey fog that crawled over the ground like an animal on its belly. He found he didn't care much for that fog and did his best to avoid it, but it seemed to be constantly springing up to slither over his ankles and legs, chilling him to the bone despite the long cotton trousers he wore beneath his robe.

Van Helsing, too, seemed to take a dislike to the fog, sometimes leading Carl by circuitous routes rather than plowing through the thickest clouds that blocked their way. The further in they got though, the less possible that was until at last they could no longer avoid the large foggy banks that mounded up before them. Taking a deep breath, both men ducked their heads and dove into the fogwhich covered them and obscured the area around them with an impenetrable gloom.

The one mercy was that the continual roar of rain instantly ceased-despite the fact the fog was only a mist, it seemed to repel the slush falling without. Tentatively, the men straightened and looked about with wary curiosity.

It gradually began to occur to Carl as he looked at the roiling clouds,that he could pick out faces forming and disappearing, much like the fanciful shapes could be picked out within the clouds that rolled over the blue skies back in Rome. The faces appearing before them here, though, weren't exactly pleasant like those shapes fancy created back home. The more he tried to watch them, the clearer they became, writhing and grimacing, sinking down to root in the muck and filth at their feet before dissipating again.

"Carl?" Van Helsing's deep voice came as a welcome relief in the profound silence, pulling Carl away from his horrified fascination with what he was coming to realize were the inhabitants of the level they were now on.

Forcing his eyes up, he looked at the hunter and noted a green tinge to the man's face. He wondered if the same bilious tint was present in his own.

"This is the level associated with Gluttons," Carl gulped, and then essayed a weak smile that was more a grimace. "I hadn't thought it would be so awful…but it is, rather, isn't it…."

"A bit," Van Helsing agreed. "Are there any monsters we need to be wary of?"

"Monsters…nooo…I..don't..," Carl blinked as a large dark blob manifested before them, emerging from the clouds and taking a shape as insubstantial as the rest of the fog. In the next instant that shape swatted him down with a very real and very large ham hand.

He hit the ground with a yelp that he instantly regretted as he got a taste of the sludge that he'd watched the specters consuming earlier. Spitting and retching, he rolled and looked about to see Van Helsing had joined him on the ground and the dark shape had now solidified enough to be easily identifiable as an extremely large and extremely muscular man, though his features were more bestial than man-like.

Van Helsing had rolled wearily over onto his back and elbows with the look of a man who had had about all of the trouble he was going to take. Looking up at the large shape now openly gloating down at them, he groaned.

"Hyde."

"At your service," the creature chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat. "Fancy meeting you here, of all places."

"_That's_ Hyde?" Carl breathed and hastily rethought his previous incredulity over what type of gluttons Hell would host.

"_That's_ Hyde," Van Helsing assured him as he sat up and then rose to his feet, wiping his fouled hands with disgust on his thighs.

"Welcome to my new home!" Hyde enthused, reaching over to help himself to Van Helsing's hat, settling it ludicrously onto his own craggy head. "So nice of you to _drop_ in!"

Carl winced as a swiping backhand sent the hunter flying back into the muck. Carl watched from his prone vantage as the hunter slowly rolled over again, noting that Van Helsing's hands had slipped beneath his body. He knew the hunter kept a brace of pistols at his back. Apparently so did Hyde.

"Ah ah ah," the creature waggled a huge digit at the hunter. "That's not very sociable. You come to my home and want to put holes in me five minutes after meeting? I'm here because of you—the least you can do is stay a while to entertain me!"

Hyde swooped down and grabbed the front of Carl's robe, hauling the horrified friar up in front of him as a shield. As close as he now was to the creature, Carl found himself holding his breath against the awful stench that rolled off the huge body.

"I haven't had a decent meal in ages," Hyde confided with a smile for Carl. "You look like a toothsome morsel that would go down very smoothly."

"No…nononono, not really," the friar babbled, shaking his head so hard he got dizzy and had to blink the black spots from his eyes. "I'm just a friar…"

"Chicken! I **_love_** a good bit of poultry!" Hyde chuckled and opened his cavernous maw over Carl's head.

"EEEP!" Carl half screamed and half groaned as his eyes fixed on the huge roiling red tongue and pools of saliva washing against the monster's yellow molars leading all the way back to a tremendous black hole of a gullet. If the monster didn't bite his head off, the stink of Hyde's breath alone was going to kill Carl.

Van Helsing leapt to his feet, the air abruptly filled with the sound of whirling blades.

"Eh?" Hyde grunted, then screamed deafeningly before he dropped the stunned churchman and went down in a moaning bloody heap when his left shin neatly separated from the rest of his leg at the knee

Carl scrabbled back from the twitching limb that rapidly dissolved first to the feeble and pitifully thin shank of an old man before further downgrading to a dark fog which immediately slithered toward the writhing Hyde and fastened itself to the stump of his leg.

Van Helsing reached down and hauled Carl up by the back of his robe, thrusting him forward into the swirling fog.

"Run!" he shouted.

Carl took one look at the monster on the ground who was now stirring with two very much intact legs and picked up his skirts in a dead run. He heard the hunter pounding along behind him and blindly thrust back a hand, gasping when it was seized and held tightly. The very last thing he wanted was to be separated from the hunter in the thick fog. Behind them both they heard Hyde's bellow of childish delight.

"Hyde and Seek!" the monster bellowed. "Ready or not, here I come!"

"We're not ready…we're not ready!" Carl moaned beneath his breath and ran harder.

It was a nightmare. They ran blindly on and on and on through the thick fog, ducking and dodging as more and more dark spots coalesced before them and always they heard the thudding footsteps of the behemoth behind them while Hyde's growling laughter and eager moans heated their backs.

Their emergence from the fog into the deepest dark of night was a shock and both men tumbled to the ground, rolling down a steep decline for several feet before they brought themselves to a halt in a tangled knot of limbs. Without bothering to unwind himself, Carl thrust his hands around Van Helsing's waist beneath his coat and clutched the brace of pistols there, drawing them and thrusting one into Van Helsing's hand while cocking the other. Both guns took aim at the fog shimmering like liquid silver only feet away.

The ground bounced and boomed beneath them and the mist parted as Hyde appeared. The monster rubbed his hands together, his snaggle-toothed maw parting in a huge grin as he eyed the men and his red tongue lolled out to lap at his distended lips.

Both guns went off at the same time with a roar of sound and a cloud of blue smoke. When the smoke dissipated, a large hole had appeared in the monster's stomach, hollowing it out. The expression of surprise on Hyde's face would have been ludicrous if Carl hadn't spent so much time being terrified by it only seconds before. Looking down at the hole, Hyde thrust a finger into it, then his whole fist.

"Damn," he muttered, before toppling backwards into the fog which seemed to happily swallow him whole.

They stared at the fog, waiting for the monster to regenerate, to reappear. But all that came forth was Van Helsing's hat. It rolled gently down the short decline to land beside them.

Van Helsing only shook his head and dropped forward onto Carl's chest. This seemed like a very good idea to the friar who promptly closed his eyes and eased into blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

Time has a habit of passing by, whether one wills it or not. If that particular truth was upheld in Hell or not was anyone's guess, but Carl _felt_ as if he had slept for years when he finally was awakened by a gentle shaking. Years or not, he wasn't in any mood to come awake while they were still in Hell. Shaking his head and swatting at the hand on his shoulder, he rolled away and curled up into a ball, pulling his hood up and over his head. It was lovely and snug and… 

Carl's nose twitched, his nostrils trying desperately to close themselves as a scent like wet dog and human excrement vied with the all encompassing stench that he immediately associated with Hyde.

His muscles galvanized, thrusting his body up to his feet and whirling him about to face the monster even before his mind was more than half awake. Then he blinked as he looked about, realizing the only thing facing him was Van Helsing seated beside a very cheery fire with one sardonic dark eyebrow raised.

"Oh," Carl croaked, perhaps not intelligently, but it was the best he could manage. Rallying, he cleared his throat and tried again. "I stink."

"I know," Van Helsing said as he tossed something at Carl which the friar caught before realizing it was a bar of soap. "We can't spare much water, only enough to wash your face and hands really. We'll have to put up with each other until we find some water that's fit to bathe in."

Rather than make a reply, and risk the possibility of breathing in more of the effluvium that surrounded him, Carl settled for taking the bottle and clean rag that Van Helsing proffered. It would be a relief to scrub at his skin and feel it come clean though he couldn't help wishing that he could take a long luxurious bath in his tin tub. As it was, he had to make do with shedding his clothing until he was naked and scrubbing with a rag dampened with scarcely a handful of water. When he'd done the best that he could, he tossed the rather black rag onto the smelly heap of clothing and turned to Van Helsing. The hunter held out a change for Carl, the last of the spare clothing they had brought. When they found that body of water that was fit to bathe in, they would apparently be doing some laundry as well.

Carl didn't want to touch his old clothing but he forced himself to stuff it into the small sack that already held Van Helsing's soiled garments, cinching it tight with relief.

Feeling much more human and with the scent of Brother Felcher's soap in his nostrils to remind him of home, it was now a pleasure to seat himself beside the hunter and enjoy the fire's warmth.

"Where did you get the fuel for a fire?" he asked as he held his hands out to the orange blaze.

"I've been scouting some while you slept; not far along there's a wood. I took some of the deadfall."

"Wood?" Carl asked, brows knitting. I don't recall anything about a wood in my readings."

Van Helsing shrugged. "Just be happy that I found it. We were both wet to the bone and this level gets cold."

Carl nodded, putting the puzzle from his mind in favor of holding his hands closer to the blaze. It seemed odd to think of Hell as being cold after being told repeatedly in sermon that it was a pit of burning fire. He supposed, if he had to go one way or the other, being frozen was better than baking like a chicken.

"Gabriel, do you think we'll actually pull this off?"

Van Helsing didn't answer, only slid a little closer to Carl so that he could curl an arm about the friar's shoulders and pull him close. Gratefully, Carl snuggled, turning his face into Van Helsing's neck to press his cold lips to the warm skin there in a gentle kiss. The hunter made a soft encouraging sound, pulling Carl closer. It seemed very natural to Carl to open his mouth to first lick and then to bite, feeling the warm skin open softly so that the body-warm wash of blood came to his mouth like a fine wine. He swallowed, nuzzling as he sucked at the small wound and felt Van Helsing tremble against him and hug him closer yet. They were still in Hell, but Carl felt so very warm and safe and loved. He could feel Van Helsing nuzzle him followed by the touch of his mouth and then the warm wetness of his tongue against a cold ear.

Carl gave a little shimmy and purred with pleasure. He _loved_ the intimacy of the grooming Van Helsing was giving him….

Grooming?

Carl's eyes flew open as he swallowed reflexively at the hot tingling taste of blood on his tongue.

Blood? He'd just swallowed a mouthful of Gabriel's blood. Not a drop or two-a _mouthful_.

Carl thrust away from the hunter, scrabbling to his feet to snatch up the precious bottle of water, upending it into his mouth then spitting it out in a spray that sparkled in the firelight like crimson stars.

Van Helsing made no comment, only sat watching Carl, his knees drawn up so that he could hug them to his chest. The green glow, always apparent in his eyes, was stronger now, and seemed to hold a touch of sad remonstration, though the hunter's face gave nothing of his thoughts away.

"Blood!" Carl babbled, waving the water bottle about and slopping some of the precious fluid to the ground unheeding. "I drank your blood!"

"Yes." Just that. Van Helsing said nothing else, only sat watching Carl closely.

"'Yes'! Gabriel, how can you simply say 'yes'? I attacked you…."

"Hardly, Carl. And this isn't the first time you've taken my blood, or I yours."

"What!" the friar yelped and stumbled back several steps, his eyes fixed on Van Helsing in shock and dismay. "W.w.when?"

The hunter shrugged a touch of embarrassment in his manner now. "You suckle in your sleep," he muttered.

"I **_what?_**" Carl whispered, a hard red flush descending over his face and neck like an incoming tide.

"I liked it," Van Helsing admitted.

"You like me drinking your blood? Like a vampire?" Carl asked as he sank bonelessly to the ground to stare at his lover with a sort of horrified fascination.

His lover didn't seem to appreciate the scrutiny, though he obviously fought back his irritation to give his answer dispassionately.

"Hardly a vampire, Carl," Van Helsing answered with a growl. "I'm still among the living and you're not out looking for helpless villagers to slake your thirst on."

"But…but I've never done something like this before." Carl drew his knees up in the same manner as Van Helsing, clasping them hard. He felt very much alone; he couldn't understand why Van Helsing wasn't more shocked, even disgusted by his actions. Wasn't that what the hunter _did_? Hunt down monsters that drank other people's blood? True, he hadn't made a meal of it…but the principle was there. He wished with all his heart that he could find comfort in the one place where he'd grown accustomed to finding it—in Van Helsing's arms. But that was where the problem lay to begin with—so he hugged his knees harder and fixed his anguished gaze on his friend, praying he'd find some way to make everything better. If anyone could explain it, surely Gabriel could.

Van Helsing sighed, and his long legs slid down so that he sat cross-legged. One arm came up to perch an elbow on his thigh so that his chin could rest in his hand. He regarded Carl thoughtfully, and then shrugged, seeming to come to a decision.

"Carl, when you agreed to become lovers with me, what did you think would happen when I demonstrated the 'taint' Jinette had been expecting. You saw me as a werewolf, not once but several times."

Carl blinked, shaking his head. "I know," he murmured. "I did see it…I guess I just accepted that was part of you now."

"Mmm. And as my lover, it didn't occur to you that, since I'd inherited the taint through blood, you might as well?"

Carl's mouth fell open, giving Van Helsing a very good view of fine white teeth, slightly crooked, a pink tongue, and a healthy set of tonsils. He had to restrain an urge to reach out and gently shut the friar's mouth. It was giving him ideas that he knew the friar wouldn't be in any mood to appreciate at the moment. Carl had accepted the fact that he _was_ still cursed with lycanthropy, and even, apparently, vampirism, so easily it had seemed a miracle. Evidently, the friar would not find it as easy to accept that same fact in himself with quite so much aplomb. He found a sadness welling up deep and dark within himself. He recognized it, had lived with it for a very long before Carl had banished it with a kiss. And the reward for Carl's kindness and love was that he too was now tainted. Van Helsing grimly added self-loathing to his sense of dark loneliness now.

"I'm sorry, Carl," he murmured. "I thought you realized…. I would never have come to your bed the first time if I'd thought I _was_ cursed, and certainly I would have stopped our relationship if I'd realized what it would do to you."

"You're sorry?" Carl whispered. "I don't know what to say to that Gabriel. I…I don't want to be a monster…"

"You're hardly a monster, Carl," Van Helsing growled, then threw up his hands. "Fine, have it your way. You're a monster. That must make me one as well. It doesn't change anything for me. I still love you, and I still intend to fight Paul."

The hunter's words served to wake Carl from his bemused befuddlement, and he looked up at the other man with a frown.

"'Fight Paul'? You don't mean that 'we'll' fight him do you. You mean…you've always meant that you'll take the beast's shape and fight him that way. Don't you."

The last wasn't a question and Van Helsing didn't treat it as such. "There's no other way to beat him. No wound can touch him, he regenerates too quickly. Maybe the wolf can stop him."

"Maybe!" Carl's knees came down with a thud to one side and he rose to them to stare down at the hunter with an incredulous gawk. "You think 'maybe' it will work and you're willing to sentence yourself to Hell for it? You're willing to leave me alone, here in Hell, when you kill Paul and then take his place as an animal?"

The last was a near shout of anger and Van Helsing winced as Carl rose to his feet, his whole body vibrating with so much rage the hunter wondered that he didn't burst a blood vessel. The friar never got angry, perhaps a little pissy now and then but not so enraged he could barely speak coherently.

"You bastard!" Carl spat. "You let me turn myself into a monster and then you're going to desert me in Hell!"

A low growl was climbing in Van Helsing's chest. He allowed it to pull him to his feet so that he could look down at the bristling snarling friar and snarled back.

Immediately, Carl's hand swung up and contacted with Van Helsing's cheek in a hard close-handed blow that rocked his head back.

When Van Helsing's eyes slowly returned to Carl's they flamed a brilliant green. His lips peeled back to reveal white teeth in a snarl. Then he threw himself at Carl, thrusting the smaller man to the ground and landing on top of him.

Carl fought him, landing a frenzy of angry blows that made the wolf within Van Helsing howl with sadness and the vampire salivate for blood. More animal than human, Van Helsing satisfied them both by seizing and forcing down Carl's arms, pinning his wrists to the cold ground, and then burying his face in the friar's warm neck to lick the soft pale skin with delight.

"Get off me!" Carl raged. "How dare you!"

"Mine!" Van Helsing growled as he bit hard on the friar's ear, hard enough to make the blond man yelp.

"'Mine'! What does that mean? You're going to piss on me now!"

"I will if you don't shut up!" Van Helsing snarled and settled himself firmly over Carl's body. He regretted that he couldn't lie between the friar's legs, but the material of Carl's robe wouldn't' allow it. He could easily have ripped it away, but somewhere deep within the man that shared the same mind as the beast, was an absolute inability to force himself on Carl. He loved him with all his heart. He would never break the trust that love demanded, though Carl seemed to feel it had already been broken.

That thought, a niggling, persistent, unwanted ache in his heart and mind forced itself to the surface of his thoughts. He didn't want it, he wanted to continue to touch and lick Carl, even to nuzzle and nip at his skin so that he could taste the warmth and comfort of the friar's blood….

Van Helsing groaned and thrust away from Carl, rolling off him to sit with his back to the smaller man, his face in his hands.

He _was_ a monster. He had succumbed to that darkness within him that Dracula had gloated over—it had come over him so easily, so gradually it seemed like a welcome friend. Carl was right; men didn't groom one another and take comfort from one another's blood. Only animals and monsters did that. And he had done that to Carl, the man he had wanted above all else to protect.

"Carl…," he growled and shook his head, hard, forcing the animal back so that when he spoke again the sound of it was gone and only the soft sadness of his voice remained. "I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" Carl sat up and looked at the hunter's bent back, shaking his head. "Gabriel, that's not good enough."

The hunter nodded once, and then straightened, rising to his feet in one motion to stride to the fire. He began to kick dirt over the flames.

"We should be going. We need to reach the Styx River soon."

"And then? You'll finish things your way? No. We need a plan that will actually work, Gabriel."

"Fine," Van Helsing stopped all motion to stand before the smoking ruin of the fire, looking at Carl through the spark ridden blue smoke that ascended toward the false sky. "If you have an idea, spit it out. How do I kill it, Carl?"

Judging by Carl's scowl he didn't appreciate being put on the spot, but he crossed his arms over his chest and settled himself firmly on the ground, forehead knitting in intense concentration.

"All right, what do we know? I wish Benerd was here, he had a better handle on this. Paul can't be killed, he regenerates too quickly. He's contained now, but his magic isn't so he could send something to stop us at any time. He probably won't though, because he wants us to come to him. That's what he wants most of all."

"We already know this…." Van Helsing began only to be impatiently 'shush'ed by the friar. Rolling his eyes slightly, he sank onto the ground to lay on his side and one elbow, prepared to wait till the crack of doom for Carl to work through his mutterings. Contrary to Carl's accusations, Van Helsing really didn't want to be consigned to Hell forever. He simply had no other apparent recourse. If Carl could come up with one…. He sincerely hoped the friar would pull yet another miracle out of thin air for them. Meanwhile, Carl carried on with his muttered cogitations ignoring the hunter.

"So we have a slight advantage over Paul—we know that he won't throw away his chance to trap us both."

"You, at least," Van Helsing said, fighting down the incipient growl that threatened to emerge with that thought.

"Noooo," Carl said slowly. "You didn't see him when he thought Dracula was planning to take you. It made him almost as angry as I've ever seen him. I think his hatred of who he believes you to be is as strong as his obsession for me. It's two sides of the same coin."

"A balance," Van Helsing mused, raising his eyebrows as Carl's eyes flew to his. "Remind you of anyone?"

"Dracula," Carl said and eagerly hitched up to kneel on his shins, his hands now animatedly patting the air between the two men. "Benerd said something…something very important, I heard it but didn't listen, damnit. You're mentioning Dracula brings it back to mind…."

"Benerd said a lot of things," Van Helsing drawled, but he nevertheless cast his mind dutifully back. "Can you remember when he would have said it?"

Carl shook his head, and then groaned as he slapped his forehead several times in quick succession. "Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink…."

"Carl, it won't come loose with pounding. Just try to remember what was happening when he said it."

The friar's blue eyes came up to Van Helsing, the hunter could almost see the sequence of events that scurried through Carl's mind like a swarm of hyperactive mice and then the friar yelped, loudly.

"YES! It was in the mud flats! He said something about wishing he had a bit of Paul's blood…"

Van Helsing nodded carefully. "He wanted to study Paul's regeneration. Mavis said…."

"…that since he studied demons he could find the answers in any of them for Paul's regeneration abilities…."

Van Helsing held up one finger, "But Benerd said it wouldn't work. All the demons he's studied have been dead. They don't regenerate after they die."

"YES!" Carl shouted and launched himself up to pace back and forth in a frenzy of motion, exhibiting such delight that Van Helsing wasn't sure if he should restrain the man or laugh out loud at him. "Yesyesyesyes YES!" Carl cried and whirled to Van Helsing. "That's it! Paul has to be dead, and then his abilities won't work."

Van Helsing wondered if the taint within Carl had done something to warp his brain. He hoped not. It was a good brain. "Carl…."

The friar snorted, blowing his bangs off his forehead in disgust. "I can see it in your eyes, Gabriel; don't even think about calling me crazy. Have some faith! Paul will regenerate from every wound we could possibly give him—even the wolf…."

"You don't know that for sure…."

"Yes I do—I used common sense! Mortal wounds, any mortal wounds, would simply heal. The only way to stop that from happening is to kill Paul. However," Carl held up a quelling finger as the hunter's left eyebrow began to rise and his mouth opened, "…that brings us back to the problem of how do you kill someone who can't be killed! What if instead of killing Paul, he was changed—what if the change involved turning him from a cambion, into a werewolf or a vampire! Alright, let's take it one step further. Werewolves aren't his Achilles Heel; remember, he licked your cheek in the lab when you fought, he's had the taint from your blood in him all this time and it hasn't slowed him down. But what if he were to become one of the walking dead, created by the master vampire himself. That just might stop his regeneration."

"Dracula," Van Helsing began slowly, a glimmer of a smile touching his lips, "Dracula regenerates, but as I recall his brides and children weren't able to…."

"Not from a **mortal** wound-that's right! Dracula's gift of immortality was the original gift, only one thing could kill him. All the others were just pale copies with limitations. If Paul is a vampire, he'll be dead. And he won't be able to regenerate from a mortal wound."

Van Helsing shook his head, sitting up to thrust his hair back with both hands as if to scrub an idea from his brain.

"So how do we get Dracula to turn Paul…. He was talking about balance…."

Carl nodded, a large grin on his face now as he threw himself down to sit cross legged in front of Van Helsing. "It could work. Benerd was right. Dracula covets the emotions he lost in the trade for immortality. Being around you seems to bring them back, not just the pale memory of them but the actual feelings. He's only just now starting to realize they're returning. What if we make it _very_ clear exactly what's happening to him?"

"_Very_ clear?" Van Helsing repeated as he eyed the friar warily. "What do you have in mind, Carl?"

"Dreams!" Carl leaned forward, placing his chin in his hands, an avid expression coming over his frank features. "Mavis said that you could send yourself in dreams to Cardinal Jinette. Is that true?"

A faint frown had settled over Van Helsing face, but he nodded. "I thought the talks I had with Jinette were just ordinary dreams, only a little more vivid than usual."

"Mavis feels they aren't just ordinary dreams. That you were in fact going to Cardinal Jinette during your dreams to reassure him. What if you could go instead to Dracula? If you worked at recreating the events of your memoriesfrom your dream? His meeting you, trying to kill his own father, and the supposed betrayal at Valerious Castle. He talks about it; he's mentioned it often to us both. If anything can awaken his feelings, that would be it."

The grimace of distaste on Van Helsing's face evoked a strong sense of sympathy within Carl, but he waited for the hunter's acquiescence with an inexorable patience, sure their plan was the only option open to them.

"Suppose I do this," Van Helsing said, distaste plain in his voice and on his face. "When Dracula then realizes his feelings are returning, he'll want more. He'll find a way through the shield to come after us. We won't have much time to get to Paul, who probably has some surprises in store for us as well. And Dracula may not turn Paul; he may just take us and leave the cambion behind. We need to be sure Dracula _has_ to turn Paul."

"I suppose so," Carl frowned, settling back as his excited humor deflated slightly.

Van Helsing watched the friar with sympathy. They didn't have time for Carl to conquer his sympathy for the cambion, or to build up Carl's courage to make the next leap of logic. He needed to bring out the ugly truth to Carl and he needed to make sure the friar realized there was no other way.

"Carl…Paul has to see Dracula as a threat. He has to try to destroy Vlad, so that Dracula will be forced to turn him. I can put the suggestion in Dracula's mind, but you have to go to Paul, in a dream, and convince him Dracula has to be destroyed before his plans can be assured. You have the taint in your blood now—if I can send dreams, so can you. Will you do it?"

As expected, the friar's reticence was plain, but Carl swallowed hard and nodded, once, curtly.

"I can do it," he growled. "But when we finish this and we're safe at home again, I want to talk this out with you."

Van Helsing felt the vicious stab of loneliness within his guts, keen and deadly as a sword. Judging by Carl's expression, their talk on the taint they shared would be one of the most difficult things they had ever done. He hoped when it was over, something of their relationship, their friendship, would remain.

TBC


	18. Blood Wars Part 18

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The River Styx is crossed and the 'Plan' is about to be put into effect**

Notes: Sorry, lots and LOTS of introspection and classical references in this one.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Gnome**, **Mithril Maiden, ****Runts Gal, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Trinity the She Devil, ****Countess Verona Dracula**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 18**

Van Helsing and Carl decided to remain where they were, on the edge of the next level, for several hours to allow both men to get some much needed rest. It was difficult to know how long it had been since they had rested in Limbo and the constant battles they had to face to make their way through Hell wore on them both. In the end, it came down to the fact they were both exhausted and needed to rest.

Carl volunteered to take the first watch so that Van Helsing could sleep safely. The friar pointed out that he'd already slept some and was in better shape to remain awake for a few hours. Van Helsing had looked skeptical, obviously feeling the shocks that Carl had dealt with over the past hour or so had probably done away with what ever little good his brief nap had done, but the friar was adamant. In the end, the hunter curled up beside their smoldering fire, wrapped in Carl's spare cloak.

Carl watched the hunter sleep and acknowledged quietly, within himself, that the sight comforted him. He had always felt safe in Van Helsing's company—it was difficult not to when the man was so obviously willing to do whatever was necessary to keep harm at bay, even accepting damnation if necessary.

What kind of man just quietly _accepted_ the idea of damnation in order to stop another evil? Carl didn't believe for a moment that Van Helsing's original plan to fight Paul with the beast had been false bravado. He'd seen Van Helsing gamble with his immortal soul time and time again in order to stop first Dracula, then the monsters besieging the Vatican, and now Paul. How could he do that? The thought alone terrified Carl, he'd never be able to do it himself.

Did it terrify Van Helsing?

Carl had seen the hunter in the throes of nightmares before. He'd always seemed to be fighting for his life. Maybe he'd been fighting for his soul in those dreams?

The urge to cuddle up next to Van Helsing was very strong, it took all of Carl's will to resist it. He'd been happy being in love, being a part of this man's life and had looked forward to being part of his future. Now….

Now? What was left? The realization that he carried the taint within himself that he'd seen manifest in Van Helsing was terrifying to Carl. He was a man of God, his faith was important to him. How did he reconcile his faith with the love of a man that had resulted in his bearing the mark of evil within himself? He'd been able to accept the same mark so easily in Van Helsing—why was it so hard to accept within himself?

Rising to his feet, Carl paced off in the direction that Van Helsing had found wood. It didn't take long to find the small copse of trees, with a scattering of bracken beneath. He gathered the wood, examining it curiously. It certainly looked like ordinary deadwood, though why such a thing as this harmless little glade should be in Hell, he had no idea. It had no feeling of evil itself nor did it house evil. How could anything good survive here in the heart of evil? Yet the wood seemed designed solely to provide the substance of comfort.

Standing with his armful of kindling, looking up at the green leafy canopy that, while not luxurious, still served to dapple the ground in a familiar and friendly manner, Carl felt peace in his heart for the first time since he had entered Hell. It was a little thing, but it was all that was required and it was enough.

He carried the wood back to their meager campsite and settled beside the fire, carefully feeding it onto the coals, building the blaze up until it was steady and warmed them without sparking or smoking too much.

He then returned his gaze back to Van Helsing with the calmness that he'd gathered with his armful of kindling in the little forest. He'd figured out what kind of man would risk his soul as Van Helsing had done so often before. It was the same sort of man who had made it his life's work to battle the evil others fled from. He'd calmed enough now to realize that their entire journey through Hell had consisted of one miracle after another. Small and large, always disguised in the shape of luck or coincidence, they had survived to make it this far within the very heart of evil. How was that possible? Unless even in Hell, they were being looked after?

After all, you don't put your hand down without knowing where it would fall—it made sense that God would keep tabs on where his Left Hand was at any given time, didn't it?

Sighing, Carl allowed a little prayer of thanks to leave his heart. He was still troubled by the thought of the taint that existed in them both, but he didn't feel so alone with that worry now.

* * *

After both men had rested, they gathered their belongings and set off for the next leg of their journey. They had discussed the plan they'd arrived at earlier, deciding to wait until they'd crossed the Styx before attempting to send dreams to Dracula and Paul. It wouldn't do to excite Dracula's interest too much so far in advance that he'd pick them off before they could get him within range of Paul. 

Now their discussion turned to what lay between them and the Styx River.

"The next level should be the start of the more violent sins," Carl explained to Van Helsing's back as they carefully made their way down a steep incline, his eyes searching the horizon whenever he could spare them from the trail they followed. "We should emerge onto a rocky plain and the spirits there should be pushing boulders at each other."

"Why?" Van Helsing asked, plainly curious. What Carl was describing didn't sound too awful, at least for the friar and himself.

"Well," Carl began, settling into the lecturer mode that he dearly loved. "There are two kinds of souls present in this level if all goes according to research. "They would be hoarders and spenders, each perpetually battling the other."

"Doesn't sound so bad…no monsters?"

"Well…possibly one…," Carl admitted thoughtfully, wincing when Van Helsing snorted and stopped dead in his tracks to turn about, arms folded, to look back at Carl. He didn't say anything, just waited. A gentle blush tinted Carl's skin as he shrugged. "Well, I'm a friar, not a hunter. I don't usually have to think of these things."

"You might want to acquire the habit," Van Helsing said dryly. "At least while we're in Hell."

"Yes, I can see your point," Carl sighed, then rallied himself to follow Van Helsing as he once again began his descent. "The only monster of note here is Plutus and there's nothing definite on even that. According to Greek texts, he's the son of Jason and Ceres and was blinded by Zeus. He's the god of wealth and a rather nice though slightly feeble character. Then there are the myths of him being the king of the underworld Hades. In other texts, it was Persephone who bore him to Hades, making him the prince of the underworld. I think that might be a misconception though—a mixing up of Plutus with Pluto, an entirely different individual. And then Dante, of course, who paints him as a very nasty and evidently very devoted disciple of You-Know-Who. If we go with the worst case…."

"Go ahead," Van Helsing sighed. "Let's assume the worst."

"Then he would be a sort of half-man/half-wolf creature."

"Can we injure him enough to hold him off?"

"Well, Dante had Virgil simply speak with him, chastising him in the name of God and that was enough."

Van Helsing nodded and turned away to continue his journey.

"But…wait!"

"We'll handle it as it comes, Carl," the hunter threw back over his shoulder. "You're a holy man…if Plutus turns out to be a wolf hybrid, feel free to chastise him."

"Me!" Carl yelped, scrambling after the crazy man who was walking much too quickly for someone who was reasonably expecting to be faced with a monster at any moment. "What if it doesn't work?"

"If it doesn't work, I'll shoot him."

"Gabriel…that doesn't sound like much of a plan…." Carl called, huffing when the hunter ignored him. He did take some comfort when Van Helsing drew his crossbow from his pack, cocking it in readiness before settling it back onto his shoulder.

The ground leveled out and almost immediately they heard the sounds of tremendous crashings and screams of rage and vilification.

"That doesn't sound good," Carl muttered, looking up at the hunter who cocked a dark remonstrating eyebrow at him before starting over the rocky plain that stretched out endlessly before them.

Reluctantly, Carl followed, digging into his robe for his pocket breviary and hastily thumbing through it. What did one say to 'chastise' a monster? Certainly not Benedictions…Psalms seemed a bit tame…. Maybe he should just whack the thing over its nose with the book itself?

Carl took a deep breath, thrusting his book back into his pocket. He was being silly. He was a holy man, a man of God. He'd spent a good portion of the night before being amazed by God's work in protecting them so far, now at the first head-on test of that faith he was planning not to smite the enemy with prayer but rather with his battered little breviary?

"Carl…I think we've got company," Van Helsing called.

Carl's eyes flew up and his mouth dropped open as he saw a figure walking toward them, upright on two legs, dressed in a long monk's robe of what looked to be scarlet satin. Its head was covered in a cowl of the same material that completely obscured the features beneath.

"Er…I wasn't expecting that…," Carl said as he drew up to Van Helsing's side.

"Don't let appearances fool you," the hunter murmured.

"Oh…yes of course," Carl said before steeling his courage and stepping forward. He heard Van Helsing's footsteps very close behind him and drew comfort from it.

"Halt!" the figure raised a hand. "Declare yourself for my master or come no further."

"We are here in the name of God," Carl replied firmly. "We are here with his blessings and protection, your master is held at bay by God as are you. Step aside."

The figure's progress toward them stopped abruptly. Carl had to rein in his jaw's urge to drop—it had worked? It _had_ worked! He heard Van Helsing's sound of pleased incredulity and couldn't resist the urge to give a little sniff in return. Van Helsing was himself a miracle; it shouldn't faze him to see God's name holding evil at bay.

Carl's attention returned to the present as the figure before them bowed low.

"Very well," Plutus said.

His manner was humble, but Carl's ears detected the sound of what might have been a snigger and his self-satisfied pleasure with himself abruptly faded.

Plutus drew himself erect again and stepped to one side, gesturing for the two travelers to follow him. "I shall lead you to your destination, then, so none mistake you for mere Godless sinners."

"Oh…," Carl breathed, his gaze flying to Van Helsing who looked more than dubious.

"Why would you do that?" the hunter asked; the crossbow on his shoulder gave the merest of bounces but the air of the creature before them changed from sardonic to watchful.

"It's no surprise," Plutus replied before turning away to walk before them. "Your presence has been anticipated for a long time. It is in my master's best interest that you arrive at your destination without delay."

"Your master's concerns are hardly ours," Van Helsing answered, his dark eyes darting away to briefly scan their immediate surroundings. They could still hear the sounds of mighty crashings and raised voices but could see nothing except empty dirt and stable rocks. Plutus' dark chuckle recalled Van Helsing's grim gaze, tightening his features with wariness.

"Still, it is in your interests to go along, just the same, is it not?" the figure gestured again and set off.

"Do we follow?" Carl asked quietly. Van Helsing sighed, his mouth assuming a wry grimace as he raised his eyebrows in an expression Carl knew all too well.

"He's going our way," the hunter said and set out after Plutus. "As long as he's headed in the right direction, we don't have much choice."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Carl muttered and followed, pulling his own gun free of the pack he carried. The Lord helped those who helped themselves, he reminded himself.

* * *

Their journey was unexpectedly free of sights, though they plainly heard the sounds of the damned all about them. It made Carl's hair stand on end and even Van Helsing was edgy, his hazel gaze constantly moved and more than once he would drop back and gently nudge Carl to one side or the other, putting himself between the friar and some unseen danger. At first, Carl just blinked at the hunter and sidled gratefully in whatever direction Van Helsing wished him to go. But as time passed, he realized that he was placing an unfair burden on the other man. It wasn't fair that Van Helsing was forced to use the taint's gifts to protect them while Carl refused to do the same. 

Steeling his nerve, the friar lifted his head slightly and sniffed suspiciously at the air, almost closing his eyes in wonder as the empty plain suddenly came alive with the scent of sweat and toil, fear and anger, and the smell of electricity. He could almost see the penitents now, knew what each felt, what they were thinking, what they would do in the next instant so that it was the most natural thing in the world to move to one side of the path they walked on to avoid a collision. True, if they were invisible, there was a good chance that no actual contact was possible; still why tempt chance?

Van Helsing's gaze darkened as he watched Carl, but he allowed the friar's decision to look after himself. He had wanted to spare Carl from using the gifts of the taint, to make it easier on the man to simply go on denying it within himself. Evidently Carl was made of sterner stuff.

Plutus fell back at some point to walk closer to them, almost abreast, his hidden face turning often to look at Carl. It was unnerving and eventually the friar gave in to the urge to speak to their silent guide.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" he asked.

A soft snort issued from the dark recesses of the cowl that obscured Plutus' features. "I have never seen one such as you," their guide said.

"I…I'm just a friar," Carl replied, blushing slightly, his conscience prickling as he wondered if his use of the taint had been noted.

A deep insufflation from within the cowl made Carl's blush deepen and made him uncharacteristically snap. "What!"

"I can smell your fear over the gift you bear. Don't let it frighten you—it will make you more powerful than you can imagine."

The friar felt his skin crawl and he dropped back several paces. Plutus' chuckle followed him.

"I make you uncomfortable," their guide snorted. "Such a pity. I find I enjoy your company so much, such a tempting scent…."

Van Helsing's abrupt appearance at Carl's side, sliding in between the two so that he obscured Carl from Plutus' sight made their guide first jump then growl. The sound wasn't like one of Van Helsing's growls, obviously human with a healthy dose of human irritation in it. It was a bestial, primordial sound that was dark and feral with the promise of obscenity, pain and humiliation undulating within it like a poison that sickened the soul.

For an instant, Van Helsing's gaze glowed with the feral green light of the beast, and he snarled back at Plutus. The sound raised the hair on Carl's body but he felt empowered by it as the fear left him to be replaced with resolve. Surprisingly, their guide gave way, still growling, but with a submissive note to it that reminded Carl of a cringing dog. The friar reached for Van Helsing, catching his arm, quietly bringing him back to himself so that the hunter blinked, then nodded once before striding forward again. Carl looked at the shrouded figure of their guide, and then stepped forward as well, leaving Plutus to bring up the rear.

As Carl walked along, he darted thoughtful glances at Van Helsing. He'd seen the dark side of the hunter, side-by-side with Hell's version of the same taint, and they had been so remarkably different. There was _no_ feeling of evil in the beast that looked out of Van Helsing's eyes. Carl felt as if a great epiphany had overtaken him. His wonderment must have been obvious because Van Helsing's gaze dropped to him and the hunter's brow furrowed with an unasked question.

Carl only shook his head. He didn't want to discuss the taint or their relationship with Plutus lurking in the background. It could wait.

* * *

They were never allowed to see the Circle of Hell they traversed; although the sounds and scents were rich and evocative of so much that their sight of it was hardly necessary. It was almost as if they were being forced to use the gifts of the taint, a fact that clearly made Van Helsing uneasy and Carl equally so. 

Their guide never offered to speak to either man again and he kept his distance from Carl which was a relief to the friar. They made good time to the river, though it was unclear whether this was because of Plutus' company holding the terrors of Hell at bay or because Hell decided to accommodate them in order to hurry them along.

Over the course of several hours, their journey took them from the flat rocky plains to a steep cleft that required care to descend. Through the cleft spilled a fast-moving stream whose waters seemed to be an odd purple color so dark and murky that Carl was certain it had to be a poison. He made certain that neither he nor Van Helsing allowed any drop of that water to touch them, and he was pleased to see that their guide's attitude seemed the huffier for it.

As they descended, both men saw their route culminated in a tremendous swampy marsh whose shores were wreathed with a low mist. Also on the shore stood a tall stone tower that reached an impressive height. When they reached the base of the cleft and stepped onto the misty shore, Plutus drew back.

"I have done my part," Plutus said, a distinct growl in his voice. "The rest will be up to you. I think I shall be very interested to see what you make of it."

"We'll manage," Van Helsing answered shortly.

"Yes, we'll manage very nicely," Carl affirmed. "You should go now."

Plutus' head tilted slightly at Carl's firm tone, an air of puzzlement in the gesture. "It's gone," he murmured. "That lovely scent, all gone now."

"Then you'll have nothing to hold you up," Carl declared with a raised eyebrow.

The cowled head and shoulders dipped slightly and Plutus sidled away. A token growl came back to them, but clearly their guide wanted nothing to do with them any longer. He turned away and hurried off.

It seemed almost anticlimactic to realize they had made it to the River without the attendant mayhem that had dogged their steps all the way through Hell. The two men looked at one another and heaved a sigh of relief that had a healthy dose of puzzlement to it.

Van Helsing seemed pleased just to stand and look at Carl, a slight smile on his face as though he found a great deal of pleasure in the simple act of looking at his friend.

Carl shuffled his feet a little, shrugging with a smile of his own. "I suppose we should move on?"

"Probably," the hunter nodded, and then sighed as he turned his gaze away to look over the River. "It's not what I expected," he murmured.

"What?"

"Styx," Van Helsing gestured. The 'River' for want of a better word, was a swampy marsh. It had cattails and thick strangled patches of marsh grass erupting from its bubbling dark surface and the smell that came off it was less than pleasant. In the manner of all marshes, the scent was equal parts of the decaying and the soon-to-be decaying. But underneath the natural effluvium, Carl's newly enhanced senses detected the now familiar scent of anger and hatred—Styx reeked of it.

"The River of Hate," Carl murmured, stirring to explain when Van Helsing looked down at him curiously. "My research," he explained with a shrug of apology for the now-clichéd phrase. "There are five rivers in Hell, each with their specific nature. Acheron - the river of woe; Cocytus - the river of lamentation; Phlegethon - the river of fire; Lethe - the river of forgetfulness; and Styx - the river of hate. Beneath these waters, Dante says the 'Sullen' are doomed to lie, choking on their own anger and hatred personified within the River's water."

Van Helsing nodded as he looked at the broad expanse of dark water; its surface constantly churned and roiled as though stirred by strong currents. Overall, it appeared to be a tremendous fetid pool, but he had no doubt Carl was right about what lie under the surface. "Is there a boatman here too?" he asked. "I'd hate to have to find some way to swim this."

"No, you wouldn't want to do that," Carl agreed. "The Greek gods were said to swear upon the Styx and if they broke their vow, they were made to drink its waters and lose their voice for nine years." Carl looked out over the dark water with a shudder.

"Mmm, yummy!" Van Helsing made a retching noise with his tongue, startling a choked guffaw from Carl. "So swimming's out. Who is the boatman and what do we need to know about him?"

A playful smile lingered on Carl's face as he reined in his laughter to answer the question. "Er, Phlegyas. And I really don't have any information on him that would help us except that he's likely to be irascible, like Charon."

"What a surprise," Van Helsing snorted. "All right, how do we get him here?"

"Er…," Carl turned, gesturing to the tower that shared the shore with them. Both men's eyes rose up its stony surface to the distant peak where a bright fire burned. "That fire summons him," Carl explained, then shrugged. "Not sure how it was lit, though."

"At least we didn't have to climb that thing to light it ourselves," Van Helsing murmured, his gaze upon Styx sharpening. "And here he comes—he's certainly moving a lot faster than Charon."

Carl nodded, as he walked with Van Helsing down to the water's edge. "He's motivated, enjoys his work," he explained.

"HAH!" A jubilant voice shrieked at them from the fast-moving boat. "Now you're well and truly caught! Don't move! Won't do you any good…eh? You're not dead!"

"Never said we were," Van Helsing called. "But we still need to get to the other side. Take comfort that we'll probably hate it when we get there."

"Hate it! You'll be damned!"

"I get that a lot," Van Helsing said wryly. "So I'll take my chances. Will you take us across?"

The boat's curved prow slid to a gentle stop, grounding on the shore before them so that Carl was able to at last get a good look at the steersman. Phlegyas' appearance was reminiscent of Charon with the exception of a certain morbid good humor to him. Where Charon had been sullen at his task, Phlegyas seemed to enjoy it immensely. White-haired, white-bearded, with ropey muscles on a bare torso, he postured and preened before them as if he thought his very presence should instill abject terror.

Van Helsing's quiet snort reached Carl's ears plainly and he inched a foot over to trod hard on the hunter's toe as he nodded to the boatsman.

"Er…very impressive?" he ventured, drawing confidence from the wide gap-toothed smile that creaked over the old man's face. "Will you take us to the other shore?"

"That I will, and welcome to it you are, you poor benighted, misbegotten miscreants!" Phlegyas chortled. "And as if the destination wasn't bad enough, I suspect the journey will turn your hair as white as mine!"

"I doubt it," Van Helsing muttered, then growled low in his throat when Carl jabbed a finger into his side.

The boarded the boat and found places for themselves only to rock back, almost falling on their backs as Phlegyas energetically shoved his pole into the shore and sent the craft rocketing back out over the dark waters.

They moved fast, the breeze from their passage tugging at their hair and clothing. The boatsman chortled at their expressions of surprise.

"HAH! You mistook me for an empty old husk sapped of everything but dried seeds didn't you! Well more fool you! Ahh! And here is your welcoming committee—now make nice and shake hands!"

All about the boat came a bumping sound accompanied by strangled bubbling chokes and whistles. Carl started to peer over the side only to be hauled back by Van Helsing as a dead white arm abruptly thrust up over the gunwale, and a waving hand with long broken nails clutched at the friar, narrowly missing snagging his robe before falling back with a splash.

"My God!" Carl gurgled, clamping a hand to his mouth at the unfettered stink left behind.

"Nope!" Phlegyas snorted, "Not even close! Those are your new neighbors, and damned fine souls every one. Like 'em?"

"No," Carl gulped. "What do you mean neighbors?"

The boatsman nodded toward the far shore, only now becoming barely visible in the swirling mists the curled over the land and along the water's edge. "The City of Dis is yonder. Those that enter don't come back out, I'll tell you that much! This is a one way trip my ladies, so you'll have all eternity to meet and greet your water-logged neighbors properly."

Carl spared barely a glance at the approaching city, being much more involved with the task of avoiding the hands that reached and waved at him from all sides of the boat. Van Helsing too was hard pressed to avoid their grasp and finally had to resort to drawing his sword and prodding off those arms whose reach proved to be too long to avoid.

It felt decidedly odd to utter such heart-felt prayers of thanks at the sight of Dis growing overwhelmingly large before them, but when they at last pulled away from the last grasping hand and shortly after ground onto the waiting shore, Carl all but leapt from the boat and kissed the misty ground. He'd had enough of boats and the things that lived in the deep waters. However bad Dis was, at least it was on dry land.

"So now you're here and here you'll stay!" Phlegyas called as he poled away once again. "Don't say I didn't warn you properly!"

Van Helsing shook his head over the departing boatsman. "You're right, he does love his job."

"God knows why," Carl shuddered. "Those dreadful hands!"

"Try not to think about it," the hunter advised, firmly taking Carl's hand to lead him up from the water to the rock soil beyond. "We've got other things to consider now. If Mavis was right, Paul is in here. It's time to plan those dreams of ours."

Carl nodded, feeling a coldness uncurl in his belly. They had arrived, this was the culmination of their travels and everything depended on the mark of evil both he and Van Helsing carried within them. Would it save them? Or damn them to spend eternity in the grim fastness of Hell?

Tbc.


	19. Blood Wars Part 19

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The first dream; Dracula's plan is discovered**

Notes: I hope this isn't over the top, if so-tell me. After I get done cringing, I'll re-write.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Luthien, ****Jania, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Trinity the She Devil, ****Countess Verona Dracula**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 19**

They camped by the great wall of the City of Dis, at the heart of Hell. In the shadow of the wall it was dark and cheerless, but less so than within the city itself. They had come to the end of their journey and now confronted the reason for it. If all went well with their plan then they would emerge from Hell. The alternative was too difficult to imagine.

**

* * *

**_Van Helsing opened his eyes to find himself in the room that he remembered from his last visit to Valerious Castle, on the last day of Dracula's life as a mortal man. He sensed nothing alive within its walls except himself. Of course, that didn't mean that Dracula wasn't there, the Count had long since ceased to register as a living man. Now he was only the shadow on the wall that frightened the living with his hunger. _

_Standing in the great Hall, the hunter looked about him and remembered the events that he had lived through; though the idea still seemed fantastic to his mind he felt the truth within himself that he had indeed stood on these very stones over 400 years ago and caused the death of a man and the birth of a monster. What would his penance be for that act? Had it already been served in the time that followed? Or was it still to come?_

_As he walked over the gritty echoing stones, he searched the ground until he found it, the mark made by Dracula's sword. Kneeling down, he touched it again in wonderment._

_He knew when Dracula entered the Hall, he could sense his presence. It had been a long time for the vampire, since he had seen this hall with its trappings from his life. It hadn't meant as much to him, it had no significance in his current plans. Revisiting memories was an act of passion, good or bad, and Dracula's passion had been stripped from him. With luck, as he had taken the man's life, Van Helsing would give passion back to the monster, restoring humanity to him. Of course, there was also always the possibility that he would lose his own life. Van Helsing mentally crossed his fingers as he looked up to meet the vampire lord's eyes._

_"You're late," Van Helsing murmured as his fingers traced the razor thin cut in the stones he knelt on. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."_

_"Late?" Dracula looked about him as strode with echoing footsteps over the small distance between them, coming to a stop to look down at the man still kneeling. "You were expecting me?"_

_"You stay close to home," Van Helsing remarked with a shrug. "Even in Hell."_

_"I would range a great deal further, if you had not interfered with my travel arrangements," the vampire reminded him. "As it is, it is difficult to escape the trappings of life when in Hell. Your sins tend to follow you until they become like old friends. That is a very old and tired story, however. I am more interested in why you are here?"_

_The hunter looking up with another shrug. "I'm looking for memories. This seemed like a good place to start."_

_"Ah, your memories," Dracula chuckled as he turned away to once again allow his gaze to take in and assess the image of his past. He walked about the Hall, touching and handling the objects and furnishings with the detached air of a tourist but his words held a dark brooding in them that betrayed something more. "You are so sure that your memories are worth pursuing, my friend. Memories become burdens to others, but to you they are the finest gold. Would you like me to refresh your memory? To share little tidbits from your past?"_

_"Yes," Van Helsing answered, "I'd like that very much." The hazel eyes rose to meet the vampire's gaze with an open curiosity and not the slightest trace of fear. "You call me 'friend'. I used to think that was a curse coming from you, now I think once it was the truth. Am I right?"_

_The vampire's lips curved slightly at the corners as he gave a measured nod. "Of a sort," he admitted._

_Van Helsing arose from the floor, rubbing his hands together to remove the dust from them before walking over to the vampire. Dracula seemed surprised when Van Helsing came to stand before him with only a token wariness in his manner._

_"Go on," the hunter urged._

_Dracula raised an eyebrow at the command, but he began to speak. "Very well. We met on the battlefield. I fought beneath the Valerious banner, you for the Church of Rome."_

_"We were solders?" Van Helsing asked, stopping when the Count shook his head._

_"Oh, so much more, my friend," Dracula said with a lingering note of longing in his voice. "We were warriors…brethren of the sword…as different from the commoners that flocked the battlefields as a hawk to crows. They came for money-we came for the love of war."_

_"Love of war?" Van Helsing frowned, watching the vampire closely as if searching his face for some sign that would make the allusion clear._

_"Of course." Dracula turned to walk slowly along the length of the Hall and Van Helsing fell into step beside him. "There is a magnificence to war, in the art of making war, which is known to only a few. To most, it is only the crudest of hacking and slashing, surviving or dying by chance. To the true warriors, it was like discovering purpose, each battle like making love with such passion, such fire. It was…the discovery of life, and everything else like a pale sleep. On the battlefield, we knew what it was to live each second with the full understanding of that precious gift. And when we died, it was the final consummate act, to be celebrated, and remembered, forever."_

_Dracula's voice died to a mere whisper and Van Helsing saw a shudder pass through the cold still body before the blue eyes unexpectedly slid to his and a smile curved the pale lips._

_"I think, in payment for my time, I shall ask something in return of you," he said with a sly reasonableness._

_Van Helsing's mouth thinned with an air of reticence, but he nodded. "What do you want to know?"_

_Dracula gestured, taking in the Hall about them with an all encompassing wave of his hand. "Why here?" he asked. "Why do you seek your memories here?"_

_"I see this place in my dreams, often," the hunter said as he thoughtfully looked about him. "Bits and pieces, feelings without substance. It seemed the best place to start."_

_"You start your life at the place where mine ended," Dracula chuckled and he clasped his hands behind him and resumed their slow meandering walk._

_"What memories I have are strongest here," Van Helsing explained. "When you speak of a battlefield, I can sense what you describe, but the image is too vague, too mixed in with a lot of other battlefields. I can remember a…tent. Being in a tent, with weapons all around and feeling the pain of a wound. I was worried and anxious…."_

_"Anxious?" Dracula's voice was coolly studied, giving nothing away as he watched Van Helsing founder for words. "_

_"I needed to stop you, before you went so far you couldn't be saved," Van Helsing said softly._

_Dracula's eyes grew wide as he listened to the hunter and his mouth stretched in an incredulous smile of dark humor. Stopping, he fell back a step, holding his hands out to the hunter as he laughed out loud._

_"This is marvelous," he enthused. "So you **have**_ _regained your memories?"_

_"Some of them," Van Helsing admitted. "Enough to remember you were the eldest, that your family loved you and tried to save you, and you betrayed them. Now answer_ _**my**_ _question—why?"_

_The Count waggled a finger at Van Helsing before spinning on his heel to stalk to the center of the Hall, his eyes flying up to look at a banner hanging over them, bearing the emblem of the winged dragon of the Valerious clan._

_"I was the last of my kind," the cool voice was quiet but in the stillness of the empty expanse surrounding them it seemed to echo, calling forth answering ghostly replies from countless generations' past lives, past hopes and past regrets. "My father, my family, all were tamed and drained of the spark that made us what we were. My ancestors were warriors, Gabriel, our family came from the blood of a hundred battles won and lost, our minds were most at home planning strategy, not dinner parties."_

_This last was spat out with something so akin to hatred that Van Helsing's gaze, which had been on the banner above, now snapped to the Count._

_"I was the eldest," the vampire admitted with an ironic snicker that trailed off to an unexpected whisper. "I never brought my family honor. They were a product of a new way of life, a tamer way that welcomed the collar of the church."_

_Dracula raised his eyes once again to the banner. "I could never be that man whose image stared back at me when I looked in a mirror. If I were truly to be myself, I would have broken my family's heart. To their minds, I would have been an animal."_

_Pain so real and pitiful transformed the vampire's visage into the face of a man who could never find peace either in his world or within himself. "My life was not my own; the man I was died a hundred years before with the last of the Valerious warriors, leaving only a hollow court dandy behind with no battles to fight, no family honor to glorify."_

_Pity moved Van Helsing forward, hand outstretched, only to stop after one step. The man Dracula had been had, indeed, died, long before his death in the Hall they stood in. While he was to be pitied, the vampire that stood in his place now was not._

_"You chose to try to murder your own father," he said firmly, no trace of the pity he felt in his voice or face. "That was the act of an animal."_

_Dracula's gaze dropped to the hunter's a frown drawing the arched eyebrows down as if he were only just recalling the man's presence. "Do you think so?" he asked with a note of genuine surprise in his voice. "My family was already dead; what took their faces and their names were only mindless puppets placed there by Rome and God. Soulless constructs—they couldn't be killed, only put aside."_

_"They were human beings, alive with dreams and plans of their own. You had no right to take that from them. You destroyed your own family, Dracula."_

_The eyes that bore into Van Helsing's flared a brilliant green as the vampire's lips curled back to expose lengthening fangs. A pale hand flashed out and seized the hunter by the throat, closing cruelly tight—then dropped as the vampire abruptly staggered back and turned away._

_"You have a cruelty in you, My Gabriel, that was not there before," Dracula said, his voice hoarse as though he were trying to catch his breath for an instant. Then the instant was gone and the vampire turned back with an approving smirk on his face. "Bravo! Your thrust to the heart has the skill of a surgeon. What a pity my heart is already cold. Now it is my turn to ask the questions and yours to answer."_

_Van Helsing ground his teeth together, but he nodded with a short sharp jerk of his head._

_"This little stroll down memory lane," the vampire mused as he once again folded his hands behind his back and paced a wide circle about the hunter, "I think that it has another purpose besides refreshing your recollections of our past. I have a suspicion that you have something else in mind. Yes?"_

_"If I do, what does it matter? It can't hurt you to answer my questions."_

_"Gabriel," Dracula shook his head with a small moue of disappointment. "Such evasions are beneath you."_

_Van Helsing refused to watch the vampire stalk about him; instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. "All right, the truth then. When I first got here, you spoke to me in a dream. In that dream you took me to a place where Paul and Carl were. I think that place was a dream Paul had created himself for he and Carl. **You**_ _were able to enter it without any difficulty, though. It made me wonder, how long have you been entering Paul's dreams? And are you responsible for how he feels about me? And about Carl?"_

_He heard the vampire's steps pause behind him and then resume as the vampire made a noise of interest. "Go on," Dracula urged, "continue."_

_Van Helsing turned sharply, catching the vampire lord's arm to halt his circling, catching and holding his eyes. "It struck me that you would understand Paul very well. That you'd have no trouble manipulating his dreams to convince him he's in love with Carl or that I'm the hunter that brought he and his mother to the Inquisition. Every time he started to falter a little, you would be able to bolster the illusions until his feelings became obsessions. Mavis explained his past to me; she got me thinking how unlikely it was that he would come to the Vatican and fall in love with a friar. That Paul would identify me of all the hunters as the man from his childhood was odd, especially when it's well known that I despise the Inquisition and work for an Order that employs the services of craftsmen from all religions. Even if he could somehow delude himself, he had no reason to turn on his mother and when he knew I had returned with Mavis that should have given him pause. But you never allowed him to question anything for long, did you?"_

_Van Helsing stepped up close to Dracula, sliding his hands behind the vampire's head, burying his fingers in the cool silky hair, pulling the clasp that bound it free so that it fell with a clatter to the stones at their feet. He spoke directly to the startled blue gaze now. "You wanted me to come here, and this was how you made it happen. You talked about a balance—the only way I could kill Paul is to call the beast. If I kill him, he's gone and I'm trapped in Hell. But there's no symmetry to that, no balance. But if I'm trapped and you go free in my place…. That was the plan wasn't it? That's the balance you meant."_

_The vampire's gaze was frankly surprised and admiring. "You understand so well, My Gabriel," Dracula murmured. "Would it please you to know that he was eager for my instruction? He had both love and hate already warring within him; he only needed the proper faces to put to each."_

_Dracula's hand rose so that his long fingers stroked Van Helsing's hair, sliding through it to cradle the back of his skull as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against the hunter's. "Would you like to know the moment his obsession with your friar became complete? It was when you were in Bavaria, searching for his mother—who I had sent you to kill. He was restless over that, so restless that I had difficulty holding him. A distraction was necessary. So I took his sleeping mind and body for a little walk through your Palace, through the dark corridors, to your friar's door. It opened easily, and I showed him your love lying naked upon a moonlit bed"_

_The vampire tsked as he saw anger gathering in the hunter's eyes. "Do not fret, my friend. I gave him the opportunity to look his fill, but only allowed him one kiss—just here…."_

_Dracula's other hand rose to smooth over Van Helsing's chest, pausing to stroke just to the right of his heart. Then gently, softly, Dracula tilted his face forward and pressed his lips to Van Helsing's in a brief, soft chaste kiss. A shudder made the hunter's body tremble and his sigh washed over the vampire's lips with moist warmth._

_"Why Carl?" Van Helsing asked. "Is it because you knew it would hurt me the most?"_

_"My Gabriel," Dracula whispered and leaned in again to nuzzle and then to place another kiss on Van Helsing's mouth. When they drew apart, Dracula licked his lips and shivered. "It was because I knew you first, but you chose to cast me aside."_

_At Van Helsing's frown, the vampire smiled. "It has been a long time, my friend," he murmured. "The deepest wounds heal the slowest." Dracula's fingers stroked the hunter's hair and he spoke again with a propitiating air. "I was angry about the wraith that used my name, my face. I would not have allowed the cambion to use you that way if I had known in time."_

_Van Helsing's gaze dropped as he frowned before the hazel eyes rose to Dracula's again. "Why should it bother you? You wanted me to take your place here; you call me friend but there's no emotion or feeling when you say it."_

_The hunter shook his head as he looked into Dracula's eyes and a small smile quirked his mouth. "Why couldn't we have met like this before? What would have been changed if we had been in each other's lives some place besides on a battlefield?"_

_He pulled Dracula's face to his and pressed his mouth hungrily to the cool lips in a fierce needy kiss that drew a groan from Dracula and made the hand on his chest close in a harsh grip over his heart._

_When he released Dracula, he whispered harshly against the warmed lips, **"I could have loved you! You wouldn't have been alone!"**_

_And then the castle, the great Hall, and the startled, trembling body in his arms faded, running through his fingers like water._

* * *

Van Helsing woke with a start, and he ground his nails into his palms until the pain banished the tears that waited behind his closed eyelids. 


	20. Blood Wars Part 20

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The second dream; Paul learns the truth  
**Since we've covered a LOT of ground in a short while, it seemed the perfect time to touch briefly on what's happened recently, just in case folks might be feeling a bit dazed. Basically, we've found out that Dracula wanted to bring Van Helsing to Hell. If Van Helsing is forced to call the Beast within him while in Hell, Dracula will be set free to return to the mortal world and Van Helsing will be doomed to take Dracula's place in Hell. To force Van Helsing to call the Beast, Dracula has been manipulating and lying via dreams to Paul, making him believe Van Helsing is the man who delivered him and his mother to the Inquisition (which he's not). Additionally, Dracula has made Paul think he's in love with the only man who has ever been kind to him—Carl. In the final chapters, Van Helsing and Carl will reawaken Dracula's feelings (they had been shut down by the Devil in exchange for his vampirism) and they will convince Paul that Dracula is his enemy. End result-the show-down fight between Dracula and Paul. The way they'll accomplish this is by manipulating dreams themselves.

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Runts Gal**, **Gnome, ****Mithril Maiden, ****Luthien, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Trinity The She Devil, ****Countess Verona Dracula**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

* * *

**Blood Wars 20**

When Van Helsing opened his eyes, it was to Carl's worried gaze and the comforting touch of the friar's hand upon his shoulder.

"It worked, then," Carl surmised, anxiously taking in the tears that still sparkled in the hunter's eyes and his clenched hands. He'd maintained a constant grip on Van Helsing, afraid that the hunter would be injured again. Dracula had not felt emotions in almost half a century—when he did, they were bound to be erratic and way out of proportion. His newly awakened emotions would have been stewing and coming to a boil since the vampire lord had met Van Helsing face to face in the Carpathians. After so long without them, their impact on the vampire lord would be devastating. Now, the friar patted the hunter's shoulder and smiled hesitantly. "I can see it was difficult for you. You think he'll come, then?"

Van Helsing heaved himself up to a sitting position, dashing the moisture from his eyes. He looked about, grounding himself once again on the plain of Dis, just outside the dark city's walls. A small fire warmed him and at some point, Carl had thrown his coat over the hunter—he'd probably begun to shake and Carl had tried to warm him. He eased the heavy garment off and returned it to the friar. To Carl's raised eyebrows, he nodded in answer.

"It worked. He's confused now, but when he gets a hold of himself he'll be angry. Very angry."

"Gabriel…about your memories," Carl began only to be cut off as the hunter abruptly rose to his feet.

"There's no time, Carl. There's something that you should know that may make going into Paul's dreams too dangerous for you."

At the first sign of the friar's stubborn frown, Van Helsing growled and shoved a hand though his hair in vexation. "Now's not the time for this, Carl."

"Just tell me what to watch for," Carl insisted. "I'll look after myself."

He saw the hunter wince and inwardly he winced himself. It hurt Gabriel to be told he wasn't needed, that Carl didn't want his protection. But the friar had no other choice, they had to get this done and Paul would never listen to Van Helsing so it had to be Carl who went.

"All right," Van Helsing sighed. "You've made up your mind, I can see that. You need to know that Dracula has been tampering with Paul's dreams for a long time—convincing him that he loves you and hates me. If you go into Paul's dreams, you'll need to convince him of that that should open up his hatred for Dracula. The problem will be that if you convince him that Dracula manufactured his feelings, those feelings may change. He may suddenly see you as someone to take his anger out on. And even if he doesn't, I can't guarantee that Dracula won't appear in the dream and you'll be confronting them both."

Carl settled back on the ground with a low whistle and wide eyes. "Ah…that doesn't sound good, does it?"

"That's why I'm not sure you should go," Van Helsing insisted, dropping to his knees before Carl. "I did everything I could to awaken Vlad's emotions, even telling him that I could have loved him…."

"What?" Carl blinked, reviving from his worried speculations with a sharp thud as he met the hunter's eyes and felt a wave of dark jealousy wash over him. "You told him you could _love_ him?"

"'Could have', Carl, as in long ago. You were right, when you said he's feeling betrayed by our relationship. I don't think he wants to love me in the sense that you and I have been together. It has more to do with the loyalty and blood oaths of warriors and the fact that I chose to ignore those bonds."

"Ah…," Carl's exhalation was shaky, but he nodded his understanding as the blazing anger receded from his mind and the glow from his eyes. "So it's reasonable to expect rather more than just a run-of-the-mill anger from him, then?"

"I'd say it's guaranteed to be spectacular," the hunter admitted, his gaze locked on Carl's. "Don't go, Carl. We'll figure something else out."

The friar drew a deep steadying breath before shrugging. "Well, working the way we pictured it—we had to pull him to us. He…he won't simply order Paul to kill you, will he?"

Van Helsing gave a small huff of frustration and plopped down on the ground beside the stubborn friar. He wanted to shake the man, to somehow force some sense into the stubborn skull so that Carl would understand their plan had just become too dangerous. But he would never convince Carl that he should be the one to go to Paul in a dream. So in the end he simply shook his head. "No, he'll come here. I think he'll want to look me in the eye when he spits me on a sword—either that, or chains us to a wall and spends the next hundred years amusing himself with hot irons."

"Hmph…jolly," the friar muttered. "You certainly don't fool about when you make enemies, Gabriel."

"Just remember that, when you contact Paul. When he hears what you have to say, he won't be throwing flowers at you, either," the hunter assured his friend grimly.

* * *

_In his dream, the lab was as Carl remembered and he allowed himself the unabashed joy of fondling the table, the tools and his projects with a proprietary air. He hoped that Jinette hadn't given him up as dead and given his space to another craftsman. It would figure that Brother Luke would even now be trying to finagle that spot for himself. He'd always had his eye on it and had been known to suck up shamelessly to the powers that be in an effort to get it. Fortunately, brains won out over a busily working brown nose! _

_Automatically, Carl crossed himself in an absent-minded gesture of contrition for his snarkiness and he heard a sly snort of humor behind him. He almost stumbled as he whirled about, backing down along the table's edge as he saw Paul emerge from the swirling smoke of the forges. It occurred to Carl for the first time that the seeming boy with the pimples and glasses that he'd known at the Vatican was well and truly gone. The man who paced him now was self-assured and exuded an oily dark charm that was both repellent and fascinating. With the recognition of the taint present in his own blood, Carlrealized he was scenting the evil on the man he had once called a friend._

_"Ah…er..Paul," he stuttered. "I…came looking for you."_

_"Did you? I'm so pleased to hear that, Carl. I've wished that you'd choose to come to me, of your own free will."_

_"Yes…well…in a manner of speaking, any way," the friar muttered and hastily sideled about the lab table while trying not to be too obvious about avoiding close proximity with the other man. He suspected that he was failing miserably, but with that scent curling about him and making his skin crawl he found he really didn't care._

_Paul's smile for Carl didn't falter, though a touch of sadness now tainted it. "Carl…don't be afraid of me," the cambion pleaded. "I would never ever hurt you. I love you, Carl. More than anything or anyone ever has or ever will love you."_

_"Oh…that's…nice," Carl winced and viciously shoved down the traitorous spark of pity that crept into his mind. He couldn't afford it, not now! "I've come to talk with you. I've come to tell you the truth; I hope you'll believe me," Carl said, looking at the other man hopefully._

_"Why wouldn't I?" The cambion reached the lab table and began to glide around it, his eyes never leaving the friar's. "I know that you love me. You would never purposely hurt me. You do love me, don't you Carl?"_

_"Oh…well…yes…I do…as, er, one should love all one's fellow men," Carl allowed a quick smile to touch his lips, blinking rapidly. "I care a great deal for you, Paul. We've always been friends…."_

_"Friends," Paul paused in his advance, frowning. "I don't want to be your friend, Carl."_

_"No?" The friar's voice was a worried peep that caused a large dark smile to slide over the cambion's face._

_"No." Paul shook his head as he continuedto circle the table, taking a step forward for every one that Carl took backwards. "I want to love you, as a man, Carl. You are my family, the one I would protect and cherish, my mate…"_

_"Oh!" Carl breathed, and then shook himself, halting his retreat abruptly. Van Helsing had warned him that Dracula might chose to appear in this dream. He didn't have time to gawp and play ring-around-the-rosie about his lab table. "Paul, we need to speak about that, about your feelings for me…."_

_"All right," the former friar agreed readily. "But first, I want to hold you, Carl. Nothing more, just to hold you. I'll let go when you ask it, but please allow me that one favor."_

_It took an act of will power to stop the shudder that threatened to shake Carl's body like a terrier with a rat in its jaws. The idea of allowing that sense of evil that surrounded Paul to actually touch him…._

_"Please, Carl, please," Paul breathed as he approached, his hands risingto clasp the friar's shoulders, feeling his body shudder jarringly at the contact. "Don't be afraid, Carl. I would never hurt you and I need this so badly."_

_Paul's arms slid about Carl's shoulders and over his back, pulling the friar firmly into his shoulder as the cambion dropped his head with a sigh to press his face to Carl's neck. A soft moan escaped the cambion's lips as he pressed a kiss to Carl's pale skin._

_"I love you, Carl. I've loved you for so long, so long…. I've thought I would die from the loneliness at times…. Please don't leave me again. Please, please…"_

_"Oh Paul," Carl sighed and awkwardly moved his hands that were trapped between their bodies to pat the cambion's chest. "I have so much to tell you, and I am so sorry to have to do it…."_

_"Then don't, " Paul answered firmly, his arms tightening about Carl. "I'll spare you from telling me-I won't listen. We're together now, that's all that's important to me. I don't want anything to spoil it."_

_"I'm afraid we won't have much choice about that," Carl sighed, biting his lip. "Paul, I need to talk to you, and you need to listen to me. I'm afraid I'll have to insist on it." A gentle shudder shook the cambion against Carl and the friar blinked, perplexed at it until he realized the man who held him was laughing. "Paul!"_

_"Oh, I'm sorry Carl! It's just so difficult to keep a straight face when you get strict with me."_

_"Yes, well do your best!" the friar answered peevishly and shoved the cambion away to meet his dark eyes with a firm and resolute air._

_The cambion's good humor faded and the smile on his face became warmer and sultry._

_"I enjoy it when you try to dominate me, Carl. I've dreamed of it, had fantasies…."_

_"Well I don't want to hear about them," Carl interrupted hurriedly. "Paul, your feelings for me were manufactured. We were never meant to be lovers; you were tricked into loving me."_

_Paul's forehead wrinkled as he eyed the friar as if he'd just spouted utter gibberish. Carl rolled his eyes and mentally rolled up his sleeves._

_"Your dreams--Dracula has been influencing them all this time. He caused you to believe you were falling in love with me—you've had dreams about me, haven't you?"_

_"Yes, of course…" Paul began, growling when Carl overrode his imminent demurral and hurried on._

_"In your dreams, I probably said all the right things and we were intimate, weren't we?"_

_The smile returned to the cambion's face. "Yes, Carl. You gave yourself to me joyfully."_

_"Joyfully?" Carl repeated skeptically. "Paul, does that sound like me? When Gabriel and I…."_

_"I don't want to hear about that beast!" Paul hissed and turned away only to have Carl seize his shoulder and drag him back about. For an instant, the murderous hatred raging within the cambion turned his face dark and feral. Carl shuddered at it, but held tight to the man's sleeve, refusing to let him turn away again._

_"When Gabriel and I first kissed, it was terrible! I was awkward and so was he. There were clashings and hurt feelings and the kiss itself was bloody awful! And the actual love making, when it finally happened, was messy and damned awkward. But I loved him…love him. So it was worth sorting through. You see me and remember the dreams, but we've never been intimate. And as a man of the Church, the same Church who houses the Inquisition that hurt you and your mother so badly I don't see why you would ever want to be intimate with me!"_

_The cambion's howl of anger and denial seemed to echo about the chamber and inside Carl's head, making the friar clap his hands to his ears in a desperate attempt to stop the sound. He shouted, trying to make himself heard._

_"Gabriel and I…we argue…all the time. Often, I don't know why I even **like**_ _him, let alone **love**_ _him…. Are you saying…you've never gotten angry with me? Never stopped liking, even loving me?"_

_"Yes!" Paul cried, whirling about to seize Carl's arms, dragging the friar to him to snarl into his face. "When you gave yourself to that animal! I_ _**watched**_, _Carl! I_ _**saw**_ _you demean yourself…."_

_The slap of the friar's hand across Paul's cheek was shocking, stopping the cambion mid-rant. In the echoing silence, only his stuttered breathing and Carl's snarl of anger were heard. Carl leaned forward, thrusting his face back into the cambion's as he spat out his rage._

_"You **watched**? Who invited you! Yes, you saw me give myself to Gabriel. And yes, I bloody enjoyed it! I love him and he loves me. The only relationship you and I have ever had was in your dreams, Paul! You said it yourself, half the time I didn't even know you're there! I'm tied up with my work so that I barely am aware of my surroundings. You were lonely and wanted someone to love so desperately that you developed a crush on the first person who was kind to you. It could have been anyone—except that Dracula made certain that it was me you fell for. He filled your dreams with so much nonsense about me that it was a wonder you didn't fancy me with wings and a halo!"_

_"No! You're lying!" Paul snarled. "That animal, Van Helsing, he hates me badly enough to talk you into this!"_

_"Why would he hate you? He doesn't even know you!" Carl interrupted firmly, raising his own voice. "He had never even met you, couldn't pick you out of a crowd to save his life. And this utter rot about him delivering you and Mavis to the Inquisition! Gabriel **loathes**_ _the Inquisition. He's been in their hands a few times himself, you know—he'd never deliver **anyone**_ _to them. He's not a hunter for the Inquisition…."_

_Paul snarled and leapt on Carl, shoving him down backward over his lab table with his hands about the friar's neck, squeezing. "You lie, you lie, you lie…." He chanted as his hands tightened and his face got redder and redder with the rage and humiliation that boiled within him._

_Carl choked and gagged as he fought the hold, prying and shoving until by sheer luck he jabbed his fingers into the cambion's eyes. The effect was to make the demon rear back with a cry that allowed Carl to slide to the side and safety. Immediately, the friar scuttled about the lab table, talking fast._

_"I'm not lying! Why would I? What would it gain me? Van Helsing doesn't work for the Inquisition, he never has! He works for the Order, you've seen that. You've seen the other religions that work for the Order as well—you know the Inquisition would never stomach that. If they could, they'd sweep the lot of us into cages. And your mother! You sent Van Helsing to kill her! Dracula convinced you of that—why else would you have done it? It was only by finding Mavis that we ever had a chance of finding you and we never would have found her if you hadn't led us straight to her! Why would you do that? You wouldn't, Paul—but Dracula would! He wanted us to come to Hell, and the only way that would happen was if you forced us to follow you here."_

_Carl leaned over the table, looking into Paul's eyes. "You've been used, Paul. Hoodwinked and used by Dracula. You don't love me, a churchman, and you don't hate Gabriel, who has never ever worked for the Inquisition. You've been watching us—look what happened with Torquemada. You know I'm telling the truth. It'd make better sense if it were the other way around, if you'd fallen love with Gabriel and loathed me!"_

_The heavy table shouldn't have been able to move. It had withstood time, explosions, acid, and day-to-day exposure to Carl over a period of years. These violent, destructive agents had never managed to even jostle it. It was as immovable as fate—it should have been. But abruptly it **was**_ _moving, sliding to one side and then overturning with a roar of sound and crashings and the fire and smoke of exploding chemicals._

_Carl fell back with a yelp of horror and watched with round eyes as from the smoke and fire came the cambion. The man was gone, what faced him now was the demon. Winged, dark, a man's face on a nude muscular demon's body that exuded a powerful sexual compulsion and pure evil._

_"Oh my God," Carl whispered. "Paul, what have you done…."_

_"Isn't this what you wanted, Carl?" the demon growled with a sultry purr that made every hair on Carl's body stand on end. "You tell me I should hate you and love Van Helsing. That my feelings for you have all been a manufactured lie by that vampire…. That I've been used and lied to and cheated…."_

_"What will you do?" Carl asked as he backed away and felt faint-headed as the demon paced him with a sensuous grace and a look upon his face that spoke of corruption and degradation._

_"I'm a demon, Carl," the cambion purred. "An incubus. What do you think I will do?"_

_"Not with me you don't!" the friar growled. "Your only enemy in all of this has been Dracula, from the start!"_

_The cambion hissed slightly but continued to stalk the friar down the length of the lab. "I believe you Carl. And I **will**_ _settle with Dracula. But first I'll have the one thing from this whole debacle that I've dreamed of, wished for…you."_

_Carl didn't even bother to answer. Instead, he dodged about the forge with the cambion in hot pursuit._

_"Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup," he chanted to himself as he narrowly squirmed away from the grasping hands and heard the cambion laugh._

_"Taking you will be the culmination of my hatred for the Inquisition, for the church, for the lies and pain and loss…." Paul panted behind him. "I want you, Carl, so badly!"_

_"I don't want **you**!" Carl yelped and ducked a swipe, pushing the rack of swords over to block Paul's advance._

_The cambion hissed at him from across the forge, his cat-like eyes gleaming golden with diamond pupils. "Come to me Carl. You'll enjoy it! You've been with Van Helsing; it won't be anything you haven't already done, though I suspect it will hurt a good bit more!"_

_"You're not selling this very well!" Carl panted, bobbing from right to left, trying to anticipate how the cambion would move. "Why don't you try this with Dracula? He's the one who's been responsible for all of your pain, all of the lies…."_

_"I will," Paul promised, "but first you!"_

_Abruptly the wings flexed and Paul came over the forge, colliding with Carl and knocking them both to the ground. Paul roared with satisfaction as he seized the front of Carl's robe and tore it open to expose the friar's chest and stomach._

_"Get off me!" Carl raged and struck at the cambion with his closed fist only to have it seized and shoved to the ground. He flailed about with the other hand, trying to keep it from being pinned too. The cambion didn't bother pursuing it, instead it lay down on top of Carl, over his breast, and began to suckle._

_The friar screamed as needle sharp teeth savagely tore his flesh and he heard the sounds of ripping as the rest of his robe was torn away before the cambion settled between his legs._

_…._

And then he was sitting bolt upright, screaming and flailing with tremendous tears flowing down over his cheeks, and Van Helsing was catching his shoulders and pulling him into the warm comforting safety of his arms.

"I'm here Carl!" the hunter reassured, holding him tightly nestled against his chest as though it were a safe haven that Carl would never have to leave and the friar fully intended to hold Van Helsing to that promise.

"Oh God, oh God," Carl shuddered so hard his teeth clattered and he couldn't seem to stop crying. "Oh Gabriel…."

"I'm here, Carl. It's over, I won't let you go, you're safe."

Carl burrowed into Van Helsing's chest, into his coat and vest and the panels of his linen shirt until he foundwarm skin and fastened his mouth to it in a frenzy of relief and love and hunger. He heard Van Helsing's gasp as he bit at the skin and then heard nothing more but the race of his own pulse slowing down and the most incredible lassitude taking him as he licked at the warm blood that trickled over his lips. With abandon, he licked wetly at the skin beneath his mouth, grooming and drawing such sweet, pleasurable, innocent comfort from the act. He wasn't an animal…he wasn't a monster…he was Carl and he was with his Gabriel, the love of his life, his mate. He'd experienced the pain and degradation of an animal's lust, and the soft warm comfort that he felt now was nothing like.

"I love you, Gabriel," Carl whispered to the heart he felt beating beneath his lips. "I swear it, I'll never leave you, never stop loving you."

He felt the tension drain from Van Helsing's body as the hunter folded the panels of his coat over them both, encasing Carl in a safe nest against his chest, against his heart.

"I'll always be here for you, Carl," Van Helsing looked down at the friar bundled up as tightly against him as the man could get. "I love you, I'll never leave you. I swear it."

"Never?" Carl demanded and raised his tousled head out of the nest the hunter had made for him to meet Van Helsing's gaze squarely.

Gabriel smiled. "Never. I swear it to you, Carl."

And the friar smiled and lifted his head for the kiss that he had been longing for forever it seemed, and felt at peace with the affirmation of love when Van Helsing's mouth was pressed softly to his own.

tbc


	21. Blood Wars Part 21REVISED

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

Summary: The start of Paul's and Dracula's battle

**NOTE TO READERS: This is a re-write of the original Chapter 21. I liked the original, but it wasn't a strong enough end for Paul nor did it tie up the loose ends still remaining. That's what comes of getting so caught up in the race to the finish line! I hope that you enjoy the new writing (21 and 22). Chapter 23 should finish the problems with Dracula and Paul and see our boys on their way home. We'll see!**

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Countess Verona Dracula, ****Mithril Maiden, ****Ney-Nya, ****Luthien, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Trinity the She Devil**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**Blood Wars 21-REVISED**

The aftermath of their dream wars had left its mark on each man, healing some wounds and creating others that would be a source of pain and guilt for years to come. To ease the impact, Van Helsing and Carl needed time-to be quiet, to be with one another, and to reaffirm they were both well and safe. Despite the need for catharsis, it couldn't be done and they knew it. Events were in motion and they had to ride the crest of the coming wave or be swept under.

The City whose walls they sheltered beside was the first Circle of Nether Hell and within its cold sanctums the Heretics were consigned. Also within would be Dracula, who had renounced his family's love of God for the benefits the devil could bestow, and Paul, who had chosen the City as a fitting dwelling in view of his hatred of God and the Church.

Van Helsing and Carl briefly discussed if they would have to find some way to enter Dis in order for Paul to have access to them, but quickly gave that idea up. Mavis had to know that they would not be allowed to enter Dis as living men; they put their faith in the belief that she would have taken that fact into account. She had said the shield around Paul would hold until it was no longer needed and then dissipate. That meant that Paul was free. And he was coming.

The friar and hunter hastily gathered their things and settled their packs on their backs, making sure that their weapons were primed and ready. There was a good chance that their plan would go hideously wrong—if it did, they would need to be prepared to fight back. It wasn't mentioned, but both men knew that neither would call on the beast within unless both did. One would not be damned while the other was forced to go on alone.

Van Helsing and Carl hastened down the bank to the shore and uttered a heart-felt thanks when they saw Phlegyas' boat was moored below to allow a fresh load of spirits to depart it. The fact that they could actually _see_ the departing souls where they had not been able to before was another worry-it meant something, most likely an unpleasant wrinkle in the nature of their taint, but for now not even that was as important as their boarding the boat. They ran, taking long-legged leaps down the slope of the slight hill and then along the beach, arriving at the boat's side as the last soul stepped off its deck.

The boatman's expression of shocked surprise barely had time to manifest before both men sailed into him and toppled him overboard. Van Helsing retrieved the dropped barge pole from the water and shoved the boat away from the shore with all of his strength. Carl hung over the side of the boat and when Phlegyas' head emerged spluttering from his dunking, he whacked the boatman over the head with the butt of his gun. Phlegyas promptly sank like a stone. If he hadn't already been dead, his sinking might have been cause for guilt—as it was, Carl only crossed himself and breathed a sigh of relief. He flopped back into the boat and searched it thoroughly for weapons, of which he found none; the friar was lucky, however, to find a short-handled paddle. Uttering a heart-felt prayer of thanks, he dipped the blade of the paddle into the murky water, and timing his strokes with Van Helsing's, began paddling for the opposite shore.

While they couldn't propel the boat as fast as Phlegyas had, they managed a respectable speed until they got to the middle of the river and the hands reappeared. From out of the mists that swirled like milk about their boat, the hand of the Sullen, doomed to lie choking upon the dark water, rose to grasp the boat's sides. Their purpose wasn't known, perhaps the poor souls were only pleading in their mute fashion for understanding or salvation, but their grasp on the boat slowed its progress and their attempts to catch and hold the two men were too dangerous to ignore. Carl was forced to stop paddling and start whacking at the hands that grasped at the boat from all sides while Van Helsing continued to pole the craft. It was hard, nauseating work with the stench of the river and the corpse-like sinners that eructated to the surface. Their craft's speed slowed to a respectable crawl and no faster. In between keeping only the most cursory check on their progress to the shore and upon the hands, most of their worried attention was directed on the receding City of Dis and the skies above it.

When the massive wings of the vampire lord Dracula appeared in the roiling false sky and the black wings of Paul's incubus shape exploded from the city, both men's cries of warning rang out simultaneously.

Whether the sinners that reached from the river's depths for them sensed the upcoming battle or they had simply tired of trying to drag the two men down, suddenly the hands were gone and Carl was paddling for all he was worth.

The craft flew toward the shore, and right behind them was Dracula—and right behind him came Paul.

They reached the shore at the same time that Dracula reached them. The vampire flew like an arrow, straight at Van Helsing, the weight and trajectory of his body knocking the hunter from the boat to land in a sprawling heap on the shore. Carl dived over the side toward Van Helsing and in the next instant the vampire seized the boat and lifted it from the river, dripping and covered in odious slime, to throw it at them. They couldn't avoid it—instead Carl threw himself over Van Helsing in an attempt to protect him even as Van Helsing attempted to roll with Carl to cover him with his own body.

In the confusion they heard the 'WHUMP' of the boat landing over them, covering them as they lay wide-eyed and frozen inside, trapped like bugs under a glass.

They didn't see the instant that Paul caught up with Dracula, but the noise was deafening. Shrieks and snarls, roars and howls of animal pain made both the hunter and friar snarl in turn and their eyes flame bright green. It was Van Helsing who recovered enough to seize Carl's arm, silencing his answering snarl and snap with one of his own before thrusting the friar at the far side of the overturned boat.

Carl didn't answer, but he joined Van Helsing in digging into the soft sand and soon had created a hole that allowed him to wriggle out from underneath the heavy boat. He slunk along the side of the craft and peered out at the combatants.

Dracula and Paul both retained the facade of winged demons that allowed their battle to range from the sky to the ground in a whirling, slashing maelstrom of carnage that was both sickening and awe-inspiring. Both bloody; their wounds were horrific when inflicted only to heal almost immediately. They were stalemated. Paul screamed his constant hatred of the vampire lord while Dracula fought silently with a deadly intent. He had meant to use Paul for his own purposes, now his tool had turned against him. He would have to destroy Paul, quickly, or he would lose Van Helsing and his chance to leave Hell as well. But though the wounds he had inflicted should have killed Paul thrice over, the cambion kept coming back. Dracula's newly-awakened emotions were now seething with the odd combination of hatred and painful delight as the battle waged on. He had been denied the joy in battle for almost a half-century and the return of that pleasure was like the razor edge of pain and ecstasy, both rending him and satiating him like the most consummate lover imaginable.

A hand seized Carl's ankle, startling him badly—he whirled, lips drawing back in a snarl only to pause then recover when he saw Van Helsing, finger to his lips, urging him to follow. They crawled along the side of the boat, keeping out of sight. The hunter pressed his mouth to Carl's ear, whispering into it. "I don't want to leave without being sure how this ends, but we can't afford to still be here if they break off."

Carl saved his breath and only nodded. If for any reason, Dracula and Paul's battle was not conclusive and they turned their attentions instead to the two men, he and Van Helsing would be in very rough waters.

As Dracula's and Paul's struggle took them further down the shore line, the hunter and friar leapt to their feet and ran toward the cleft along the side of the hill leading up to the plains above. They weren't noticed, or if they were, neither combatant could free themselves long enough to pursue.

Van Helsing set a grueling pace, running with his weapon drawn and primed, with Carl coming immediately after with the tojo gun in his hands. Whether it was the taint in their blood or the knowledge of what lay behind them, both men's footsteps never faltered or flagged despite the pace they set or the slogging terrain they traversed. All around them, they heard the now-familiar sounds of boulders crashing into one another, of screams of vituperation gaining volume and then ebbing as the combat of unseen contesting forces flowed back and forth over the seemingly barren plain.

Van Helsing was more than ready for the figure that came loping at them—the scarlet robe had been abandoned to expose Plutus' lupine body, completely devoid of hair, and with human features and a razor-lined maw for a mouth. The crossbow sang as the tojo gun followed, rounds of quarrels and spinning metal disks plowed into the hybrid and bowled him over. Plutus howled and snapped at their passing legs but he didn't rise nor did he offer pursuit.

They were coming to the edge of the plains, the foggy wall of the next circle was in sight when a tremendous white demon cannoned into them and sent them sprawling.

The vampire checked in mid air and dropped beside Van Helsing.

"Gabriel, you will not leave yet," Dracula growled and seized the front of the hunter's vest, dragging him up to his feet.

The hunter immediately swung his fists, connecting solidly with Dracula's jaw twice. The bat's head rebounded, but he didn't drop the hunter. One large muscular hand seized the hunter's chin and wrenched his head to the side. Dracula's form flexed and changed to that of the Count as the vampire lord's fangs sank into Van Helsing's throat.

For an instant all activity seemed to cease, all was quiet and fate seemed to totter and balance on an unseen edge before tipping gently….

Van Helsing snarled, his eyes flashed green as he welcomed the change that seized his body; his skin tensed as the beast within moved to the foreground of his mind….

Carl rose up to one knee, raising the tojo gun to sight it on the vampire straining Van Helsing's body to his own, his white face buried in the hunter's throat. He could hear the sounds of Dracula's greedy suckling and that more than anything, made his finger tighten to release the spinning tojos. The disks of metal tore into Dracula, burying themselves still spinning, deeply into his body. The vampire screamed and staggered backwards, his slackened grip allowing the hunter to fall from his arms to the ground.

Van Helsing was already changing, already opening his body and soul to the beast, when he caught sight of Carl and again fate wavered, and then reluctantly and slowly settled back into its allotted space.

The hunter swallowed the bitter draught of his rage and thrust the beast back in its place. His throat was on fire, he could feel gouts of hot blood spilling over his chest and he clapped a hand to the wound, pressing hard.

Above him, he heard Dracula's snarl of anger as the count turned to the friar and held up one hand, forefinger raised.

Carl hesitated, caught by the impact of the vampire lord's glamour slamming into his mind, numbing it. He watched the count with wide blue eyes whose pupil had shrunk to the size of a pin head. He wasn't aware of anything but the count and the luscious feeling of lassitude. He watched with only a vague interest as Dracula pulled his own shirt open and drew one razor sharp nail over his own chest, opening the skin in a deep cut that spilled blood over the pale chest and stomach. A gentle smile touched Dracula's lips as he surveyed Carl's dreamy vacuity from beneath lowered eyelashes; with an air of ineffable satisfaction, the vampire turned back to Van Helsing.

"You will stay, here in Hell, My Gabriel," Dracula murmured, dropping to one knee to catch the hunter by the back of his neck. Van Helsing caught at the hand, attempting to yank it away, as his other hand slammed into Dracula's gory chest to push away from it with all his strength. The vampire's smile widened and assumed an almost gentle aspect.

"You will stay, Gabriel, with me. It will be as it should have been, when you bound yourself to me so long ago with your love and your pity. When I have reaped the last benefit from your presence, you will take my place in Hell for eternity."

Van Helsing fought the hand behind his neck as it pulled him up to the wound in Dracula's chest; the muscles of his arms and shoulders knotted massively with the effort but his hands slid uselessly over the vampire's gory skin. He was pulled up to the cold still chest until his mouth was pressed to the wound. Dracula's head fell forward as he cradled Van Helsing to his chest, rocking him, his own lips pressed to the hunter's dark hair. Van Helsing's fingers on the pale skin of Dracula's chest strained outward for several seconds, and then relaxed over the soft curve.

"Drink, My Gabriel, and live forever."

"He's not _your_ Gabriel, he's **_mine_**," Carl snarled and struck Dracula in the face with his loaded pack. He used all of his strength and the anger of the beast within him catching the vampire at the apex of his swing; the vampire lord's head snapped back with a dull crack. Dracula fell, releasing Van Helsing who sprawled to the ground gasping and retching, his bloody fingers clawing the gravel and sand beneath him with each violent wracking heave.

Carl strode to the hunter and slid both arms about his waist, heaving him up as he used his sleeve to wipe the blood from Van Helsing's mouth and chin. Then, forcing the hunter's head back against his shoulder, he pried Van Helsing's mouth open, thrusting his fingers inside, wrapped with the material of his sleeve, to wipe the hunter's tongue. He managed one rasping stroke before Van Helsing shoved his arm away. The friar wasn't satisfied, but he settled for getting a firmer hold about the hunter's waist before thrusting them both over the boundary of the Circle and into the obscuring fog that awaited them.

They'd left Van Helsing's crossbow behind, but there wasn't any chance that Carl would go back for it. He held his own gun still cocked as he supported the shuddering Van Helsing through the fog. The hunter stumbled and leaned heavily on Carl, his breathing was hoarse and labored. Carl was terrified that Van Helsing had swallowed enough of Dracula's blood that he was now being changed into one of Dracula's fledglings. His own heart was thudding within his chest and time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Van Helsing was larger than he was and much heavier. At last, Carl had to stop and lay down his gun. He braced Van Helsing against his chest and thrust his hands beneath the hunter's coat, shoving hard upwards and then out so that the heavy coat loaded with weapons, slid from the hunter's arms to the ground. The abrupt lightening of the hunter's weight made Carl gasp with relief. He hauled Van Helsing's arm about his shoulders once again, bending slightly to catch up his gun, before straightening and setting off again. He knew that the hunter would regret the loss of his coat and the weapons it carried, but there was no help for it.

When the expected swirling black fog began to solidify in front of him, Carl didn't even pause. He simply blew a hole in it with the tojo gun and marched on through. The idea of Hyde no longer terrified him, he had enough to frighten him as he listened to the intervals between Van Helsing's labored breaths growing longer and longer.

He was only dimly aware that he was steadily becoming exhausted, that his own legs were wobbly and his arms were growing leaden. He couldn't stop, couldn't rest, Van Helsing didn't have the time. He must have swallowed quite a lot Dracula's blood; Carl hadn't been fast enough to prevent it. Now the friar had to get his friend and lover to the Elysium Fields. There, Van Helsing would be cured.

The fog was thinning now, dropping lower to swirl and root about at their feet and he kicked through it with determination. Van Helsing was till walking, though his footsteps might be more of a stumble, he was still moving. There was still hope. There was….there _was_.

When they burst out of the fog into the heavy brown rain, Carl almost wept for joy. He had never been so delighted to be doused in sludge. Somehow, the journey that had taken days was being traveled now in moments. He could only pray that the seeming miracle was from God and that God was as determined to get Gabriel to Minos as Carl was. It seemed odd to pin all his hopes on the Judge of Hell, but he was willing to do whatever it took and not think too deeply on it.

Carl hauled Van Helsing up tighter against his body and bent his head under the heavy rain to trudge onward. He forced himself to count their steps, promising himself a certain number would see them out of the rain and into the howling winds surrounding Minos. He'd reached a hundred long ago, he was passing five hundred when suddenly the rain stopped and they were being slammed by winds that flogged at their skin and clothing and made their sodden hair snap at their faces like whips. Carl couldn't hear Van Helsing's breathing any longer because of the wind, but he could feel the hunter's chest expand against his shoulder and the lengthening intervals between each breath were horrifying. The breaths were now so far apart, it was a wonder they continued at all. At any second they would stop—would it be too late then for even the Elysium fields to save Van Helsing?

Carl forced their steps forward, lurching against the constant drag until abruptly they were suddenly free and falling to the ground, into the utterly blissful stillness.

"Carl?"

Carl's head snapped up as he fumbled with his gun, bringing it to bear.

Paul stood swaying before him, between him and Minos. The cambion looked horrific; giant gaping wounds ravaged his body and face, his skin was dead white and he shook with a terrible shudder that made him stagger. His eyes, so pale with even the familiar brown color drained from them, looked at Carl pleadingly.

Carl's eyes slipped to Paul's neck and he winced at the punctures torn into the flesh. No blood escaped the ravaged wounds, Dracula had apparently drained it. The vampire lord's blood was caked about Paul's mouth and chin, what Carl had taken for wounds on Paul's face was apparently the blood that Dracula had forced Paul to drink dried upon his skin.

Paul's body quaked and shuddered as he held out his hands to Carl, his pale eyes rolled up in his skull as he breathed words so quietly that Carl almost didn't hear them.

"Please Carl…I helped you…used my magic to bring you here. Now, after everything that's happened... You'll believe I love you now... I'll take you both...with me. I'll stop his plan..."

"Paul," Carl murmured, then grit his teeth and brought his gun forward only to gasp and stagger as the world around them began to whirl and darken, spinning slowly and then faster until Carl was flung to the ground. As the spinning grew more violent, he felt his weapon spin away, but he couldn't reach out for it; terrified, he clung to the ground with clawed fingers and dug his toes in. He wanted to see Van Helsing, to make certain that he was still alive—if he could only get the hunter to Minos' urn, it didn't matter what happened to Carl himself then.

Steeling himself, he released one hand from its clawed grip upon the sandy ground—and felt it seized and dragged backwards, prying him from the ground and into oblivion.

* * *

When Carl opened his eyes, he was assailed by two emotions, both undeniable and unavoidable in their intensity—first he felt the overwhelming urge to cry. He wanted so desperately to throw up his hands and to announce that he was through; he simply hadn't the strength to go on and overcome one more obstacle. He was a friar, for God's sake! Not a bloody machine that could keep going and going and... 

The second emotion came hard on the heels of the first and brought him bolt upright, staring wildly about. It was the emotion that gives hope and strength where both have been depleted to the rock bottom and all that is left is the naked inner core of a human being, what drives them ultimately, when every other reason is gone. Carl's second emotion was love, and he forgot everything else in his desperate need to find and protect the object of his devotion.

He didn't need to search far, Van Helsing lay beside him. The hunter's eyes were closed—it occurred to Carl quite unexpectedly how vulnerable the man looked when his straight forward gaze was hidden beneath the pale shells of his eyelids and the soft sweep of his lashes. Carl laid a hand over the hunter's chest and sucked in a hiss at the chill on the hunter's skin. He held his breath as he waited, eyes fixed upon Van Helsing's mouth and nostrils, waiting for the sign of life, of a breath taken and released, however small or hesitant.

Time passed, it seemed at first like moments and then hours, and with each increment that dragged by, Carl's eyesight dimmed a little more, becoming hazy and soft with brimming tears. He was alone, he was frightened, and he was, oh...so very tired. And he was in love. Faith born of love kept his hand upon Van Helsing's chest and that faith cleared his eyes enough to see the flicker of the hunter's nostrils and then the gentle rise of his chest in a shallowly drawn silent breath of life.

Now the third emotion, relief, allowed Carl to shed his tears as he lay his head down on Van Helsing's chest, over his faintly beating heart.

When Carl opened his eyes again, his internal clock told him that a great deal of time had passed. Immediately, his hands clutched at the solidity beneath him and identified it as Van Helsing. That realization calmed his first feelings of panic; just the presence of the other man brought a peace with it that settled over Carl like a warm fuzzy blanket. He wanted to sit up and stare at Van Helsing for hours, just to convince himself they had made it, that they were safe. Van Helsing was well, he wouldn't die, and they had been successful in their escape from Hell. Right? Van Helsing was well...their escape had to have been successful.

The friar did sit up then, but his feelings of joy and relief had given way to an enormous amount of trepidation and gnawing doubt as he allowed himself for the first time to take in his surroundings in detail.

They were in a dull grey space that he identified in the pale lighting as a small chamber. Both men lay upon a thin bag of hay, raised to a height of several feet upon a wooden platform that extended beyond the pad by a foot or so. Beyond their makeshift bed, there was no other furniture. The only other distinctive attributes to the room were a narrow high window that let in what light there was, and on the far wall a solid wooden door, shut at the moment and no doubt bolted on the other side. The room had all the earmarks of a cell.

Carl clenched his hands over Van Helsing's chest as he caught and thrust back the urge to scream with frustration and anger. Instead, he made himself think with a furious intentness that was aided by speaking out loud. Hearing his own voice always concentrated his thoughts wonderfully.

"So, Gabriel," Carl looked down at the hunter and smiled, unclenching his hands to pat the chest beneath them fondly. "It appears that either the Elysium Fields' hospitality isn't all it's cracked up to be, or else our escape didn't go so well. For Mavis' and Benerd's sakes, I'm hoping it's the latter." The friar sighed, and then set his mouth in a firm line.

"Right," he announced decidedly, and found he liked the sound of that very well indeed, so he said it again. "Right! First, we'll take a look at your neck. You're breathing, thank God, so _something_ went right."

They were covered by a nubby blanket that Carl pushed down, raising his eyebrows as he looked again at the blood stains on Van Helsing's shirt and vest. So much blood, it was a miracle the hunter hadn't bled to death. An errant impulse swirled through Carl's mind to wonder how many miracles they were entitled to. Surely God had a limit, even for his Left Hand. Since that thought was in no way comforting, Carl ruthlessly quashed it into an unrecognizable blob and then shoved its mortal remains into the darkest corner of his mind.

He examined Van Helsing thoroughly, unhappily feeling the pervasive chill that seemed to hover over the normally hot skin. On Van Helsing's throat were a ragged set of punctures as well as the bruises in the shape of fingers on the back of his neck and on his ribs. Carl couldn't deny what had happened, then. But why wasn't the hunter dead? Was there a waiting period before the poison of Dracula's blood killed its victim? It didn't seem likely, Carl had felt Van Helsing's fight for every breath after he was bitten, and he had been dying then.

His skin was chilled now, but that could be due to blood loss. His heart beat, though shallowly, while beneath Carl's fingers he was unmistakably breathing...

Carl shook his head, then groaned and rubbed his temples. "I think if I have to manage or figure out one more thing, my head will explode!" he growled. "And since I haven't a hope of getting out of here without some solid thinking I expect to shortly splatter myself all over this Hell bedamned prison in short order!"

The last was said a good deal louder than his normal speaking volume and Carl held his breath, waiting for developments. They came with alarming speed.

The door was rattled as though struck by a solid weight and then a low grating noise apprised the friar that the locks that secured it were being opened. Carl's hands clenched on Van Helsing's open shirt, curling against his skin as the massive wooden door opened with a squeal of stressed metal.

The corridor outside was pitch black, and Carl shuddered as he looked at the darkness and wondered what waited within it.

"H...H...Hello?" Carl stuttered, damning himself for the fear that was plain in his voice but unable to resist it just the same. "Who are you? Where are we?"

"Carl..." The whispered word made Carl's flesh creep and the hair on the back of his neck rise like the hackles of a dog. He heard the growl within his voice when he answered.

"Paul?"

"Yes, love," came the breathless whisper again. "I'm so...so happy to see you."

Carl strained to make out a shape, a figure in the blackness, but Paul evidently was keeping well back. "Why are you hiding? And why did you bring us here?"

No answer came from the watchful blackness, though Carl was sure Paul still stood there. Reluctantly, Carl lifted his head and allowed himself to delicately scent the air. There was a musty muzzy closeness to it that bespoke of sleep that lasted years and bondage that lasted forever. The stones themselves had the scent of frightening age, and bitter loneliness clung to every crevice and crack. It was frightful. But as bad as it was, the faint scent that Carl detected coming from that dark well outside the door was infinitely worse. There was a dreadful sickness there, horrible and deforming, creating an unnatural thing in its wake. Paul had been bitten by Dracula, had obviously drank the vampire lord's blood willingly or not, and now he was undergoing metamorphosis.

Carl's eyes dropped to Van Helsing, taking in his still face, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, and shook his head. Van Helsing was obviously _not_ well, but he wasn't obviously dying either, or at least he didn't appear to be despite his earlier alarming appearance of decline. But the thing...Paul, waiting outside the doorway, he was being affected. Horribly so. Why?

"Paul?" Carl called, licking his dry lips as he steeled his courage. "I know you're there. Please, tell me what happened? Why are we here? Is Van Helsing turning into a vampire?"

A shuffling sounded from the darkness, and then a thin sad little laugh that died almost immediately. When Paul spoke, it was in a quiet voice that sounded so very tired. "I brought you here. Minos would not have allowed you to go through...not with Van Helsing as he was. And I didn't want Dracula to win."

"Oh... But Van Helsing seems to be all right..."

"Yes," Paul answered with another choking exhalation of laughter in his voice. "He's holding his own; I don't know why...maybe it's the werewolf fighting the vampire within him. He _was_ dying..._should_ have died. Should have died and felt his skin, his body turning cold and dead, rotting from without..."

"Paul," Carl called, "I want to see you. Show yourself."

"No Carl!" the wail from the darkness was heartbreaking and made Carl shiver. "You don't want to see me. What it's done to me...I can't stop it, can't heal it. It's destroying me..."

"The bite...the vampire venom?" Carl asked softly and heard the sound of a snuffled assent.

"Yes, the venom," Paul sighed. "It's destroying me, Carl. I know that pleases you..."

"No!" Carl protested, "I never wanted to destroy you, Paul. You gave us no choice! You wouldn't stop! And then in the dream..."

"I hurt you, Carl. I'm so very very sorry. So desperately sorry."

It struck Carl that the cambion probably was sorry, but it wouldn't stop him from doing it again. Paul's need was a heart-breaking dangerous thing that would destroy whatever it touched. They had to escape from Paul, from Hell. If Paul really was dying, then their mission was complete. All that remained was to...

"Carl...what are you thinking? You're so quiet."

"Ah, well, I really don't know what to think," the friar admitted warily. "You won't show yourself, but you brought us here. You say you want to stop Dracula's plan, but you hold us in a cell with a locked door. What do you have planned Paul? I can't help but wonder what use you think you'll make of us."

The answering susurration of dark laughter swirled about in the air between them. "You're so very clever, Carl. Of course I have a plan. I know with Van Helsing here, he'll come. Dracula. He'll come to get the hunter. Van Helsing has something he wants. And when he comes, I'll destroy him as he's destroyed everything of value to me."

"Paul," Carl began hesitantly, then steeled himself and spoke more firmly. "If you really are becoming a vampire, you won't be able to destroy Dracula. You'll be compelled to obey him."

"Not me," Paul said eagerly and a shadow pressed itself against the doorframe. Carl had one quick glimpse of a white claw-like hand, covered with running wounds and sores before he tore his gaze away and thereafter kept it directed down. Paul evidently recognized Carl's horrified reaction because he withdrew from the door back into the darkness. "I can't kill him," Paul continued, "but you can. You and Van Helsing. That is the price for your freedom."

"What? But...we can't kill him any more than you can. You saw..."

"It's the werewolf venom," Paul interrupted. "I read the reports. He can be killed by a werewolf."

Carl huffed, restraining the urge to tear his hair out. "I don't know if you've noticed this or not, but we're in Hell," he announced firmly. "That means, with very few exceptions, all of which are present at this moment, everyone else here is already dead. They're not going to get any deader, Paul. Dracula is as dead as he's going to get and even if we could use the taint to call the werewolves to attack him, all we'd do is wound him. He can't be destroyed now. It's been done—that's why he's here. Don't you see?"

"No! He has to pay! You'll find a way-you're clever, Carl, you'll find a way."

The heavy door creaked again and swung to with a thud of finality that hardly needed the sound of the shooting bolt that followed.

Carl dropped his head into his hands. "Well this is a fine mess, we're in now," he sighed. "Paul has officially gone off the deep end, Dracula may be here any moment, and Gabriel may or may not be a fledgling. I don't want to ask what else could go wrong!

Tbc


	22. Blood Wars Part 22

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: Paul's and Dracula's battle **

**Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Mithril Maiden, ****Luthien, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Countess Verona Dracula, ****Trinity the She Devil**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

**_

* * *

_****_Blood Wars 22 _(If you haven't read the revised 21, please do so before reading this chapter)**

_Van Helsing stirred and rubbed his nose and cheek against the cool soft touch of velvet beneath his head. His fingers smoothed over the solidity beneath the material, stroking it with bemusement that was held at bay by the rightness of it. He wasn't warm, and he felt odd, as though he was weakened by a long course of illness, but he wasn't uncomfortable. Tentatively, he stretched and felt his body slide against another. An arm was about his shoulders, curling about him so that he was held securely to the chest he lay upon. His left leg lay over muscular thighs and he murmured with approval as he moved closer, draping himself more firmly over them. About him, the arm tightened and the touch of lips pressed into his hair. It seemed natural to lift his face and look up at the blue grey eyes that met his with such pleasure._

_"Sleep now, My Gabriel," Dracula smiled. "Enjoy the sleep; when you awaken, everything will have changed."_

_Van Helsing closed his heavy eyelids and allowed himself to sink back into sleep. The soft smile that had hovered over Dracula's pale lips settled into a satisfied curve as the vampire drew him close, both arms encircling him, and closed his eyes as well._

_In the stillness that followed, the walls of the coffin they rested in grew cold and ice formed over them, creeping up to quickly cover the pair with death's crystalline blanket._

* * *

Carl started awake with a horrified yell, bolting upright with arms waving as if to ward off foes attacking from all sides. His wide, staring eyes flew about the chamber, then down to the man lying beside. Immediately he pounced, shaking the other man hard and then slapping his chilled face hard,leaving onlybrief outlinesbehind. 

"Gabriel! Damnit wake up! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Carl left off his shakings to seize Van Helsing's shoulders and hauled the man upright. Earlier, he'd stripped them both before falling asleep over the hunter in an effort to keep Van Helsing warm by sharing body heat. It apparently hadn't worked, but the gathering death-like chill of the hunter's skin _had_ served to waken Carl. He only hoped it was in time. As the hunter's head dropped forward, Carl freed one hand to quickly catch Van Helsing's chin, harshly rubbing the stubbled skin as he forced the hunter's face back up. Van Helsing was so pale, even his lips had lost their color.

"Oh no you don't!" Carl growled and fastened his mouth over Van Helsing's in a brutal kiss. He ground his lips down hard, letting Van Helsing fall backward onto the pallet as he followed him. Carl settled his body over the hunter's, sliding between Van Helsing's legs as he slid his tongue into the hunter's mouth. He squirmed slightly, and then began to move over the other man gently, hugging him close as he gentled the kiss and sucked at the lips beneath his.

As he made love to the man beneath him, Carl watched Van Helsing's face closely. His attentions had brought color again to the waxen skin, and beneath his stomach and chest, he felt Van Helsing's move with breath and life. The chill was still there, but it wasn't the cold of death; rather it was as if the hunter were awakening after a long sleep following a difficult sickness. Carl rubbed Van Helsing's arms and chest harshly, sliding his hands firmly over the pliant skin with a persistence that left warmth behind and raised a blush as blood rose to the surface. He dropped his head and nuzzled at the soft hair that lay over Van Helsing's chest, rubbing his face against it with pleasure before setting out on a nuzzling quest for the firm hard nub. It was chilled as well and with a murmur of pity over its forlorn state, Carl set about rectifying the problem. His first gentle suckle galvanized Van Helsing's body, the deep shudder was felt beneath Carl from head to foot and the friar smiled. Dracula hadn't been able to do _that_. More suckling forced a groan, barely audible, from Van Helsing and his body shuddered again. With a sly expression, Carl switched sides and all but shouted as he felt Van Helsing come alive beneath him.

The hunter's long fingers against Carl's skin moved and stroked him and Carl sighed with pleasure. He rose up to look the other man in the eyes, drawing strength and unutterable comfort from the hazel gaze that met his own. He smiled into that gaze before closing his own eyes as he kissed Van Helsing's mouth with gratefulness in his heart. He held it for a long time, demanding that Van Helsing participate in it by occasionally nipping at his lips while wriggling his hips firmly. The first time he felt the hunter gasp then growl into his mouth, Carl could have sang his hallelujahs.

Eagerly, Carl raised his head and took in the hunter's flushed appearance. He was warmer now, but still not warm enough. The loss of blood had been devastating and Carl fully intended to rectify that. He caught Van Helsing's face in his warm hands, smiling at the bemusement and trust he saw in the return gaze.

"I'm here, Gabriel, not Dracula. I don't want you to go to him! Do you understand? I want you to fight his hold." A slight frown pulled down the dark eyebrows but a gathering resolve came into Van Helsing's eyes that made Carl smile broadly. "Now, I want you to take some of my blood, to replace what you've lost."

Hmph, _that_ idea wasn't received so well. There was a definite '_no_' in that look that made Carl raise an eyebrow as his own pissy side came forward.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded hotly. "My blood is every bit as tasty as Dracula's, I'm sure! And you need it!"

A flicker of amusement crossed Van Helsing's features that curled his mouth and made his eyes come alive. But still he firmly shook his head. "No." The word was a mere whisper, but it was definitely an improvement.

"No? Why 'no'? Is it because you think I'll resent you for it? Because I assure you, I won't! I'll do anything to keep you out of Dracula's hands, Gabriel. You've lost a great deal of blood, this is a way to replace it."

Again the frown and the smile slipped from Van Helsing's mouth. Carl regarded that turn of events with perplexity. What had just happened? He'd explained it very well, he thought. He would do _anything_ to keep Dracula from getting Van Helsing..._ohhhh_!

Carl snuffed and shook his head over the hunter as if he were a trial. "Now you're being silly! I didn't say that because my only interest is to beat Dracula. I'm not _forcing_ myself to do this. I want to do it, I love you. I'd love to feel your mouth on me and know I can give you what's needed. So stop being so damned difficult and take my blood already!"

With a decided air, Carl settled over the hunter, pulling Van Helsing's face into the warm crook of his neck where the skin covering the thick vein was thinnest. He encircled Van Helsing's head within his arms and dropped his own face into the pillow as he moved his body over the hunter's with pleasure. He felt Van Helsing's breath upon his skin-so soft-and then the touch of his lips pressed to Carl's throat in a gentle velvet kiss.

"_Oh_!" Carl's eyes tightened shut as the initial pain of the bite made him flinch, and then his body simply flowed into Van Helsing's, settling bonelessly as Carl's conscious mind disintegrated into a mindless cloud of deep crimson ecstasy. He floated mindlessly with the steady sounds of erotic suckling and the beating of his own heart setting his body afire. He felt a rapture swell within himself and gladly gave his heart and mind to it, crying out as it shattered him.

For a long time he floated in darkness, only gradually becoming aware again when the insistent pressure at his throat subsided, gently tapering off so that Carl was left insensate with pleasure and a pervasive lassitude. A soft sigh slipped from his lips as the friar settled his face into Van Helsing's cool dark hair and drifted off into a dark sleep.

* * *

_My Carl._

_He rests now, at peace with his surroundings in a way that I will never know. I've watched him give himself to Van Helsing twice now—once of the body and now with his mind—and each time I have suffered for it. I wish, with all my heart, that it was me with Carl. Holding him, stroking his flesh, seeing him respond to his pleasure. That will never be now._

_For his own reasons, Dracula took my mind and now he has taken my body. The gifts of my demon father that kept me whole and young have turned against me. In mixing with the vampirism that infests me, my former gifts have become a curse that will tear me apart, rotting my body until there is nothing left. My recompense is that the vampire lord will not get what he desired either. He won't be escaping this place; I'll make sure of that._

* * *

_Carl looked about himself as a grim sigh fell from his lips. It wasn't the lab, but he recognized the beginnings of a dreamscape now. He was in the Pope's rose garden, looking at the man walking toward him over the crushed gravel walk with resignation. _

_Paul, as he had been at the Vatican, complete with glasses, smiled hesitantly at Carl. "I know that you're angry with me Carl. But I wanted just one last time with you."_

_"'One last time'?" Carl shook his head, his face darkening with an irritated frown of bemusement. "I don't understand."_

_The other man sighed deeply. "Yes, I know. Just hear me out, please, while we have time. I love you, Carl. Whether it's because of Dracula's dreams or because you are a genuinely loveable person—maybe both. Whatever reason, I **do**_ _love you. I haven't shown it very well, maybe because I was so tied up in trying to own your love it never occurred to me to try to earn it. There was a time, when we were together, that you had not yet joined with Van Helsing. It might have been possible then to have earned your love, but I didn't know how to do it. It had been so long since I'd felt or given love that I hadn't any idea of how to go about it."_

_Paul chuckled and turned to look out over the roses bowing and nodding in the breezy sunshine. "This is a beautiful place; I know that you enjoy it. I might have brought you here, to start with, I think you would have enjoyed that."_

_Carl's gaze turned to the blooms as well and he nodded. "Yes, I think I probably would have. But Paul, I don't know that we would ever have been more than friends."_

_"Friends...it's a good place to start anyway." Paul looked back to Carl with a broad smile. "I'm dying Carl, not just from the vampire's venom but actually dying. I think my body is rejecting the metamorphosis and I'll very shortly be dead. I don't believe I'll rise as a vampire, but I suppose it's possible. I've left the door to your room open, you can leave. But I ask two things of you. One is that you help me with Dracula."_

_"Paul, we can't help you. I've told you..."_

_"Yes, I know, Carl. But I believe we can attack him in another way. Through dreams. And when we do, I want to take what matters most to him, the same thing he took from me."_

_"What's that?" Carl asked softly, and closed his eyes with the other man's answer._

_"His dreams. He'll always come back, after you...after Van Helsing, if we don't stop him now."_

_Carl swallowed the sour taste that coated his tongue and throat as he turned away to the roses again. He missed the simplicity of his former life. He didn't want to be a hunter-he didn't want the darkness and the anger and pain that went with that life. Van Helsing had tried to warn him and he'd refused to listen. How he wished, now, that he had listened._

_"You said you wanted two things from us. What's the second?"_

_Paul smiled sadly as he gestured at himself. "I want to be sure I don't turn into a vampire...his fledgling. I don't want to be used...I'm so bitterly tired of that. When we're done...please, Carl...please kill me."_

_Carl met the other man's gaze with sympathy. He looked so much like the boy who had a simple crush. How had it ever come so far? Paul's pleading expression didn't falter or abate and Carl allowed a gentle smile to curve his lips._

_"I promise. I won't let you become a vampire," he said and reached out to take Paul's hand in a firm grasp. "Now...how do we stop Dracula's dreams?"_

TBC


	23. Blood Wars Part 23

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The conclusion of Paul's and Dracula's battle **

**Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers ****Ney-Nya, ****Gnome, ****Curious Dreamweaver, ****Luthein and Countess Verona Dracula, ****Mithril Maiden**

_**Special Thanks to my muse, Archangel Gabriel, the patron of the written word**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Blood Wars 23**

Van Helsing shivered; his fingers blindly curling into the blanket about his chest to draw it further up over his shoulders as he turned on his side and drew his legs up. Beneath him he heard the rustle of straw and felt it tickle through the thick material of the pad laid over it. He wished that the straw was over him instead of under, then he could burrow into it to get warm.

"Gabriel?" Carl entered the room to see the curled-up shivering form with mixed feelings of relief and worry. He'd only stepped out of the door for a moment, to actually see if the way was clear for them to leave. He'd ascertained that it was and now he'd returned to find Van Helsing doing his best to climb into his own skin from the outside.

"Carl? here..."

The friar's eyebrows rose at the sound of loudly chattering teeth. He hurried to the pallet, sliding up onto the platform. Immediately, strong arms surged out from under the blanket to clasp him about the waist and dragged him into the hunter's chest. Van Helsing's entire body curled about his, even his nose which was buried under Carl's chin and into the hollow of his throat.

"Gabriel! You're cold as ice!" Carl bleated, rubbing the hunter's back vigorously even as he shrank away from the block of ice nuzzling at his neck. He liked the nuzzling, but not the goosebumps that were rising on his own skin as a result of Gabriel's nose questing for warmth.

"Y..y..you're warmmmm," the hunter groaned and burrowed closer. It felt as if hands and legs and feet where everywhere and Carl had to fight the insane urge to giggle. Evidently, Van Helsing could sense his amusement because a very testy voice arose from the vicinity of Carl's left arm pit.

"Nnnot funnnny..."

"Nono, of course not," Carl soothed and then gasped as Van Helsing began to burrow _under_ him, exposing a whole new area of shrinking skin, covered in a woefully under-insulated robe of sackcloth, to the hunter's cold embrace. When Carl attempted to ease away slightly, Van Helsing very firmly and definitely pulled him back down so that he was sandwiched between Carl's warm body and the straw mattress. Over it all the blanket settled, keeping the heat of Carl's body from escaping.

Normally, Carl would be more than pleased to share his body heat with the hunter, but he'd never envisioned himself actually lying full-out on top of the hunter with his back to the man while Van Helsing buried his freezing nose behind Carl's ear.

The apologetic flicker of Van Helsing's tongue over his warm neck with its attendant question made Carl shiver from something else beside the cold.

"Yes," he answered, tilting his head slightly. "It's all right."

Once again Carl felt the startling pain of the bite and then the sensuous rapture that followed. He wasn't sure what caused the rapture; he had his suspicions that it was a form of the vampire's glamour that the hunter was unconsciously casting while he derived comfort from the blood. The idea that Van Helsing wasn't just lapping but actually drinking was disturbing on a great many levels, but the teeth that broke Carl's skin were human and the hunter never seemed to take much, so Carl thrust down his worries for later perusal.

He heard Van Helsing draw away from his throat with a reluctant sucking noise, then felt warm lips kissing his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Carl," Van Helsing whispered and Carl shivered, then determinedly began to turn over, swatting down the hunter's impeding hands. He had a good idea now why Van Helsing wanted Carl's back to him and he wasn't going to put up with that. Once he'd turned completely around and had settled firmly, he planted his forearms on Van Helsing's chest and settled his chin on his stacked hands at the perfect level to meet the other man's level gaze.

Van Helsing wasn't a coward. He met Carl's intent stare levelly and openly and Carl loved the courage of that gaze.

"You thought I wouldn't want to look at you, to see you drinking my blood," Carl announced rather than questioned, but Van Helsing nodded any way. "Hmph, well I'll thank you for the thought, but you were wrong."

Van Helsing raised an eyebrow at the judicious tone of the friar. He'd heard it before, usually when Carl was trying to lecture a junior craftsman about the folly of sticking one's hand in anything viscous. The friar raised his own eyebrow at Van Helsing and nodded with a knowing expression.

"That's right," he said firmly, "you were quite wrong. I made up my mind, Gabriel, when I came back from that awful dream with Paul. Whatever it is that's happening to us, it will happen to _us_, so it's no good trying to cover my eyes to it."

"You might change your mind once we're back at the See," Van Helsing said grimly. "I don't expect the Inquisition to forget the taint, when things settle down they'll come looking for me."

"For us," Carl amended firmly. "And we'll deal with that as it comes."

"Carl," the hunter shook his head grimly, but a small smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"Ah hah," Carl breathed smugly, "You see, I can still make you smile. I like that expression on you, you don't do it enough."

Van Helsing snorted, but his smile widened and his eyes held gratitude.

Carl leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hunter's lips before drawing back. He watched Van Helsing lick the moisture of Carl's lips from his own and purred with pleasure.

"I would like to say here and now that I want to spend an indecent amount of time with you in bed, once we get home," Carl announced.

"When we get home, I'll be happy to oblige you," Van Helsing promised. "In the meantime, care to fill me in on where we are?"

"Oh! That's right, you don't know!" Carl proceeded to inform the hunter of the events that had passed, ending with Paul's request for their help.

"_That's_ different," Van Helsing murmured grimly, "a monster that asks to be killed."

"Gabriel, I'm not certain that he **_is_** a monster."

"Carl, he can't be saved. Monster or not, the best thing we can do for him is to give him what he asked for."

The friar's blue eyes dropped as he bit his bottom lip, but he made no reply. Van Helsing was right, he knew it. It was hard, though, to consign the man he'd once known and liked to such a cruel ending."

Van Helsing shifted beneath Carl, his hands caught at the friar's upper arms in a harsh grip as he searched the friar's startled eyes. "Carl, he's not the lad you remember any longer. He's a dangerous unstable hybrid..."

"Yes...I know, Gabriel, I know."

Van Helsing's grip on Carl's arms gentled as pity took the place of worry. He pulled the friar down to him in a hug. "Then we're ready to do what we must," he said firmly, and felt the friar nod.

* * *

Carl led Van Helsing from their chamber to the great room beyond. It was a perfect circle; the walls were pierced on five sides by windows that allowed the light to enter in slashes across the rotten wood floor onto a pentagram. 

Carl returned Van Helsing's look of disgust, but he didn't falter, continuing across the floor to another doorway that he pushed open and entered with the hunter close behind.

The new room was a bedroom, with surprisingly opulent furnishings and a huge bed draped in crimson. Upon it lay what was left of the body of Paul. Van Helsing saw there was no doubt the man was soon to be dead, his body was decaying as they watched. The agony in the pale eyes and in the twisting hands that clung to the bedclothes was unspeakable. His first inclination was to end the creature's suffering then and there. Paul's eyes turned to his and a smile curved the bloody lips.

"I'm so glad...you're all right," he breathed. I was wrong about you, I see that now."

Van Helsing frowned as he looked at Paul, but his voice was mild and he approached the bed with an air of gentleness. "I'm glad you know that now. I'm sorry for your suffering..."

"My penance," Paul murmured softly. "I ask you one last favor before you do what you came to do...please..."

"Dracula," Van Helsing said grimly and saw the relief in Paul's eyes. He reached out and took Paul's hand, feeling the cold fingers release the heavy coverlet to close gratefully about his.

* * *

_The Valerious Castle was bathed in a light reminiscent of a blood red sunset. Van Helsing had to restrain the urge to look over his shoulder at the unchanging sky that glowed through the high windows, though he noticed Carl peering through those windows expectantly. On his other side, a whole and rejuvenated-looking Paul looked at nothing but the archway leading to the Great Hall. _

_"Is he in there?" Van Helsing asked and the cambion nodded._

_"Yes, he knows we're here, but not why."_

_"Then he's in for a surprise," the hunter said harshly._

_Carl left off his gazing to hurry to Van Helsing's side. "Gabriel, remember, you've both had his blood. You have to expect him to use that against you."_

_Van Helsing met Paul's gaze and saw him nod before answering the friar. "We know, Carl."_

_The three turned to the arch, taking deep breaths before walking through it. They passed beneath the Valerious banner into the great hall were, 400 years prior, Van Helsing had ended Dracula's mortal life. Dracula now sat ensconced on the great patriarchal chair at the end of the hall with hands steepled, watching their approach with amusement._

_"So, you pay my dream world another visit, old friend," he said as he looked at the hunter and beyond him to the two other men. "And you bring your other friends to enjoy my hospitality as well."_

_"You won't enjoy this party, Dracula," Van Helsing promised the vampire._

_"Indeed, I think you are right, My Gabriel," the Count murmured as he rose from the chair to pace forward, his gaze moving from one man to the next. "It is time that my little games end, then."_

_"Games!" Paul snarled at the vampire. "You're talking about my_ _**life**_. _You took it and warped it to this to satisfy **yourself**_."

_The vampire's inelegant snort made Paul flush. "Little boy," Dracula chortled. "So quick to blame others for your mistakes. I made use of your folly; the rest of the blame is yours."_

_"We know what your game is," Carl interrupted the vampire's cruel boasts, drawing Dracula's amused gaze to himself._

_"Do you indeed, little friar? You have had the love of two men to enliven your dull little life, I should think you would thank me."_

_Carl lifted his chin though his skin heated with a hot blush. "I do count myself lucky, but it's no thanks to you. You have a habit of using others, Dracula; and we're tired of being your pawns. We're here to stop your using our dreams."_

_"So what will you do, little friar? Summon the beast that sleeps inside you? By all means, do so. I shall look forward to the battle."_

_"No," Van Helsing caught Carl's shoulder when the friar would have retorted hotly. "We don't need to call any beast. It's enough to be here, you and I. I killed you here once, I'll do it again. That'll suffice."_

_Dracula's dark brows dropped as the thunder of rage harshened his voice. "So certain of yourself, Gabriel. So positive you are in the right. Your memories serve you well, you did indeed take my life here. You have taken everything that should have been mine, my life, my brides, even my children—everything of value."_

_"Value!" Van Helsing snorted, meeting the vampire's anger with his own. "You don't value anything, Vlad, you never have. You've used everything in your life to obtain your own goals. Your family was a bargaining chip. Your brides were only a means to an end. And your children..."_

_Van Helsing stepped forward to stand face-to-face with the vampire as he snarled into the Count's face. "Your 'children' were to be an army of deathless warriors for you to command. Your priorities were never simple survival, Vlad, you wanted to rule. Always...and you sold your soul for the chance."_

_A keening sound filled the air, like the song of steel being refined in the hottest fires until its purity is untarnished by even the memory of the iron that birthed it. Van Helsing stepped back and raised his sword before him, saluting the vampire lord._

_"This is the battle you wanted," he growled. "As often as it takes, Vlad, for as long as it takes, I swear to stop you."_

_Dracula flung out his arm and from his empty hand a sword grew, glowing red as the fires of Hell ran down the designs carved in the Damascene steel._

_"So be it, Gabriel! Forever, my brother!"_

_"Forever!" Van Helsing swore, and brought his sword down in a singing arc that clashed with a scream against Dracula's._

_Carl seized Paul's arm, drawing him back as the two men advanced and retreated in a dance of death. Carl heard the steel ring over and over again and beneath it he heard the booming drums of war and the screams of men and horses from a thousand battles past. Dracula's dream world was coming alive with its history of warriors._

_Paul caught his arm and Carl looked down to see the other man had slumped against the wall and was slowly sliding down it. He caught Paul and eased him gently to the stones at their feet. "Paul?"_

_"Carl...it...I'm so afraid... Please...Help me."_

_Carl nodded and eased himself down to hold Paul to his chest as he searched his robes hastily. He found the little battered book and began to read from it, waiting for Paul's replies, each time sketching a cross over the man's forehead._

_Undeterred, the battle raged on, each blow vicious and calculating, each weakness accounted and watched for with grim anticipation. Blood flowed from both combatants, tarnishing the bright swords and the ancestral stones. Dracula pressed his attack and drove Van Helsing from the Great Hall into the outer corridor where the Hunter rallied and stood his ground beneath the Valerious banner. Dracula laughed aloud at the sentimentality of the act as he raised his sword again, and Van Helsing stepped forward to bury his blade in the chest of the last Valerious._

_Amazement touched the vampire's face before his blade dipped and fell from his fingers to clatter to the ground. The smell of the open fields, of bloodshed and steel filled the air as the Count dropped to his knees. Van Helsing dropped his own sword to catch Dracula, easing him to the floor._

_Dracula looked up into his face and smiled. "Until we meet again, my brother," he murmured._

_"Until then," Van Helsing answered._

_

* * *

He covered the body with the banner and laid Dracula's sword over his breast. He'd stopped the dreams, but Dracula had an eternal existence in Hell. He would be coming for them in the flesh now. _

_Van Helsing hurried into the Great Hall looking anxiously for Carl. He found both the friar and the cambion, still on the floor. Carl looked up at his anxious face with such sadness, Van Helsing was stopped in his tracks. He looked from his friar to the man he held and noted Paul lay very still._

_"We have to get back," Carl said softly. "I promised, I won't let him turn into a vampire."_

_"All right." Van Helsing dropped beside the two men and leaned his forehead against Carl's. "All right, Carl. We'll keep your promise."_

* * *

They opened their eyes and shook the cloying weariness from their bodies. Carl didn't remember the last time he'd been so tired nor felt so hopeless. He forced himself from the chair he had drawn up to Paul's bed, meeting Van Helsing's gaze as the hunter rose from the chair at the bed's foot. 

The cambion's skin was grey now; even the running sores had lost their raw color. He panted for each breath and the intervals between grew longer as they watched. Carl set his jaw grimly and rummaged in his robe, emerging with one of the tojo blades that he used in his gun.

"They're made of silver and I had them blessed," Carl explained to the hunter. When Van Helsing reached for the blade, Carl moved it out of his reach. "No, I promised him. I'll do it. In the state he's in, it should be enough to..."

A grey hand lashed out and caught Carl's wrist, holding his hand immobile as the pale eyes opened to look at the two men. Van Helsing started forward, reaching for Carl, when the hand about Carl's wrist opened.

"Thank you, Carl," Paul wheezed. "You remembered...your promise."

"Yes," Carl smiled, catching the hand as it fell to hold it, patting it absently though he flinched at the deathly cold of the thin skin and the all-too easily felt bones.

"I think...I haven't thanked you properly, my friend," Paul sighed. "There's one more thing I can do, to help you."

"Paul...if I'm going to keep my promise, I should do it quickly."

Paul chuckled. "Yes, soon. But first, let me do this for you."

The white eyes closed as Van Helsing reached for and caught Carl's shoulder just as the room around them began to spin into a vortex that carried them into its dark center.

They emerged kneeling upon a wind-swept plain. Before them Minos waited, his dark eyes unblinking. The urn that would lead them to their friends and safety stood waiting.

Carl's mouth fell open in an "O" of surprise and even Van Helsing stood speechless.

Paul smiled and shook Carl's hand which still clasped his. "Now your promise. Please Carl."

Carl looked down at Paul who lay upon the cold ground, then at the blade in his hand. "Paul...I don't think...wouldn't the Elysium Fields save you? We'll take you with us!"

"Carl...," Van Helsing began only to be over-ridden.

"He may not pass," Minos announced firmly. "The road contained in the urn is not his path. Leave him or stay and accept his fate."

Carl turned desperate eyes on the hunter, who met his gaze with pity. Rising, he gently pulled Carl to his feet, taking the blade as he led the friar away to the side. He whispered one word in Carl's ear and squeezed his shoulder before turning back to Paul. Carl nodded and whirled, hastening to Paul, kneeling to take his hand again. He met Van Helsing's startled eyes and received his permission before leaning down and kissing Paul's lips lingeringly.

When he sat upright again, Paul looked at him with wonder and breathed a soft sigh of pleasure. In that instant, Van Helsing ended his life, quickly and painlessly.

They wrapped Paul's body in Carl's scratchy brown cloak, covering it from the cold with all the care a mother extends to her child. Then Carl stood over his body with a bowed head and read the prayers to send him on his way safely. Van Helsing stood silent, head bowed, until Carl finished; then, he took Carl's arm and pulled him toward Minos.

"Dracula, he'll be coming," Van Helsing reminded the friar and Carl nodded.

Minos looked down on them without challenge, opening his coils to allow them access to the urn.

"You first," Van Helsing said firmly to Carl who only blinked at him, then sighed. He walked to the urn, looked back one last time at Paul, and then reached out for the black mouth, sliding easily into it.

Standing alone on the plain, Van Helsing waited.

Above the roar and motion of the wind, he realized Dracula had arrived more by instinct than with his senses. He turned to see the vampire lord float down gracefully to the ground, his dark cloak billowing about him like dark wings. Dracula raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he looked at the shrouded body.

"Not your little friar?" he asked with mock solicitude.

"No. Paul. He's beyond your use now, safe in the Summerland."

Dracula tsked as he shrugged his acceptance. Then he smiled as he looked past Van Helsing to Minos, still waiting patiently.

"So, your job is done and you will leave this place. I shall miss our little chats."

"I won't." Van Helsing raised an eyebrow at Dracula's look of surprise and the vampire snorted with laughter.

"Always the same, My Gabriel," he murmured. "Yet always, you come back. I think, perhaps, you _will_ miss them, a little."

"Ask me the next time you see me," Van Helsing suggested and turned to walk to the waiting urn.

'Until then," Dracula agreed and watched the hunter touch the urn's mouth, and disappear from sight.

TBC


	24. Blood WarsFinale

Rating: PG13  
Pairing: Carl/Gabriel  
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Discovery and Disillusion" and "Hide and Seek"

**Summary: The conclusion of the trilogy **

Warning: Aspersions against the Church of Van Helsing's time (which I feel are merited), the ongoing relationship of Gabriel and Carl that with togetherness, deepens

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (sniff), but I do like to play

**Feedback: Thanks to reviewers Nikoru Sanzo, Gnome, Curious Dreamweaver**, **Ney-Nya, ****Mithril Maiden, ****Iblis, ****Luthien, ****Jania, ****Pineapple Ice, ****Chibi Kaz**

* * *

**Blood Wars Part 24**

It's in the nature of people who have come through hard times to find courage in themselves that's born from those times. That courage might not have been readily apparent beforehand, but in the act of survival it emerges like a phoenix from the ashes of better times and brings with it the strength and the will to continue fighting.

When Van Helsing opened his eyes, he expected to see the dismal and soul-crushing aspect of Hell before him. The expectation was pessimistic, but his will to face whatever challenge arose was born of the optimism that was the result of Hell's best efforts to subdue it. The sight that met his eyes, however, wasn't the dark lowering skies of Hell and the ranks of souls suffering the penitence their guilt and imaginations demanded, but rather he saw green—green stretched out to all sides and above that was a sky of the purest softest blue that we only see in the memories of our childhoods. Sitting up, he took in the soft undulating grassy hills all about him. Everything was rich and vibrant. As he stared about him, he heard the sounds of running water, a soft whirring breeze, and a prolonged trilling. He found himself curiously mesmerized by the song, smiling when he realized he was listening to birds singing. Had it been so long since he'd hear birdsong that he had to think about it? Evidently.

His perusal of the area also proved Carl had arrived safely. The friar was sitting a little apart, smiling widely as he looked at Van Helsing.

"I think we made it!" Carl said as he waved his arms about with such enthusiasm it looked as if he'd tumble down the hill on which they were perched. Van Helsing returned Carl's smile, but his eyes were thoughtful. Carl raised his eyebrows in query before looking hastily about. "You don't think these are the Elysium Fields? They look like fields…oh God; do they look too good to be fields? Please say this isn't another trick of Hell. I can't take any more, Gabriel, not one more thing!"

Carl's outburst of petulance provoked a genuine laugh from the hunter as he waved his hands trying to stop Carl's lamentations.

"No no, I think these are the Fields. I just wondered—you said the Fields can cure all ills. What about lycanthropy? Could it cure the taint?"

"Oh!" Carl breathed excitedly, rising to his feet to scuttle over to Van Helsing's position before plopping back down again. "Yes, it might! Let me see your neck…."

Dutifully, Van Helsing presented himself for Carl's inspection and was pleased to hear the friar's excited announcement that the punctures of Dracula's bite were gone.

"What about the other things?" Carl whispered thoughtfully, almost as if he were attempting to hide his words from any listening fates. "The hyperacuity of our senses?"

They were sitting on a hill in what appeared to be broad daylight so being able to see in the dark would have to wait verification. But both men lifted their faces to the wind and inhaled deeply. For several seconds they sat quietly, and then Carl ventured an opinion.

"I…I don't smell anything unusual. Should I be able to? What about you?"

"Nothing. I don't smell anything besides us—our trip through the Circle of Gluttons made us a little ripe. It's almost impossible to smell anything else..."

Carl blushed, ducking his head. "Yes, you're right of course. What do you think the chances are of a pool or lake of some kind?"

"I can hear water, so it can't be too far off. In any case, nothing ventured," Van Helsing said firmly and arose to his feet, extending his hand to Carl to help him rise as well. The additional height that standing gave them showed them awide slow-moving stream set at the base of their hill that widening periodically into large sparkling ponds.

With a whoop Carl took off, sliding through the tall swishing grass to gallop down the hill. His arms windmilled erratically and he achieved a fair clip of speed so that his arrival at the largest pool resulted in a brief period of being airborne before he descended with a tremendous splash. Almost immediately the friar bobbed to the surface again, spluttering and flinging his wet hair out of his face.

"Carl, you're crazy!" Van Helsing shouted as he picked a more decorous path downwards. "You could have broken your neck!"

The friar's only answer was to flop onto his back and float, gently kicking so that he propelled himself toward the shore at a leisurely pace. He arrived at the same time Van Helsing did. The hunter raised his arms to shield himself as the friar stood waist-deep in the pond and shook his head vigorously, sending water flying everywhere. Looking up through a tangle of wet hair, Carl grinned broadly.

"Don't just stand there, Gabriel. We haven't any other clothing so you might as well just come in dressed—like killing two birds with one stone, as it were."

It was true, they had returned from Hell with only the clothes on their backs; their packs, Van Helsing's coat, all of their weapons—all gone. Looking at the situation in that light, it _did_ make sense to do as Carl suggested.

With a leaping lunge, Van Helsing threw himself at Carl, carrying them both under the pool's surface. They emerged, wrestling and spluttering and splashing a great deal, the sheer amount of airborne water almost made it seem as if it were raining. When they wore themselves out, they floated at the center of expanding ripples that washed the pond's surface while they stared up at the blue cloud-strewn sky. The sun above them was warm and comforting after having been so long without it. The light that poured down all around them had a lovely purplish hue to it that was restful on their eyes. Everything was so pleasant after having suffered the privations of Hell that Carl found himself wondering if the Fields of mythology were in actuality Heaven. Then he banished the idea with a smile. It didn't seem likely that he'd slip into Heaven so easily. But as an interim, a place for reflection…it wasn't bad! That thought called to mind the Summerland that Mavis had spoken of and it was a very short journey to remembering Mavis and Benerd were supposed to be in the Fields as well.

Carl's feet abruptly sank as he thrashed in the water until he was upright and treading water. Van Helsing noted his efforts and mimicked his actions so that he faced the friar with a questioning look.

"Mavis," Carl explained. "And Benerd. They're supposed to be here somewhere."

Van Helsing's reply was to swim to the shore with Carl behind him. The hunter emerged in a veritable waterfall, water sluicing off his clothing and hair in an almost solid sheet. Carl emerged beside him, looking more like a drowned rat wrapped in soggy brown paper. They looked at one another and snorted with laughter.

"The sun will dry us out," Carl giggled as he made a token effort to wring out his robe and failed utterly to make any sort of difference. He wasn't just soaked, he was sodden. His hands were pruned and he suspected that his boots held about a gallon apiece. By mutual consensus, they shed their shoes and socks, carrying them as they walked barefoot through the grass. It squeaked beneath their feet and the shiny green blades that broke off were pasted to their wet skin in itchy stripes until they fell away as the sun dried them.

Their path led them on a meandering course up therapidly widening stream since it seemed likely that if they were to find any habitations they would be within walking distance of a source of water. Their former hilltop perch hadn't been the tallest hill by any means so even though they hadn't seen any signs of life, wasn't so farfetched to assume that they'd find that village or city in short order with some walking.

Carl tied the laces of his boots together and settled them over his shoulder, freeing his hands for more important things. He was determined to show Van Helsing how to play a tune on a piece of grass. The shrill piping sound was more reminiscent of a batch of baby birds than a musical instrument but Carl was making headway in his efforts to scratch out a tune when Van Helsing stopped and caught his arm.

Carl raised blinking eyes in an absent-minded manner to take in a broad dirt road that started at the river's edge and disappeared into the grass. The reason for the road was apparent—they had walked for several miles with the river expanding in width dramatically as they walked until it was a good mile wide. With the object of navigating the now formidable barrier, they saw a massive wooden pier had been constructed and several boats crowded its edge. The boats ranged in size from simple paddle boats to large hulled ships with riggings that could easily accommodate a dozen people.

With some cautious trepidation, they padded, barefooted, over the structure and shaded their eyes as they looked across the river. On the opposite bank, they saw what appeared to be another pier and more boats. They also saw people manning the boats, setting sail into the river with fishing nets thrown out and then retrieved with their flopping cargo.

"Hmph...looks like we've found civilization," Van Helsing noted. Like Carl, he'd asked himself if this place they now traversed so peacefully might actually be heaven. He found it curious that the first sign of habitation were fishing boats. It seemed almost a sign.

Carl easily read the hunter's thoughts, since they so closely paralleled his own, and determinedly took Van Helsing's arm to pull him away. "Let's not jump to any conclusions," he said firmly. "After all, it hardly seems likely that Hell would be the pathway to Heaven."

"Why not?" Van Helsing asked as he pulled Carl up at the pier's edge so that they could sit down and put back on their boots. As he wiped off the grass and dust from the soles of his feet, Van Helsing continued with a good natured challenge in his voice. "After all, souls are sent to Hell to repent—repentance suggests forgiveness at some point. And what about those souls who are considered less sinful than others—they have to travel through a portion of Hell to get to Minos and the urn. It'd save time to have a doorway to Heaven right where it's needed."

"You're assuming that God has to obey the same laws as men," Carl argued, waving a still vaguely damp sock at the hunter only to have it batted away. "When a soul repents, God would simply lift him up."

"Well, weren't we lifted up? I recall we were on flat ground in Hell and ended up on top of a hill here."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Gabriel, I was thinking of a good ways farther up, if you take my meaning. In a spiritual sense, not as a matter of feet and inches."

"If you say so," the hunter shrugged and stood up, stamping his feet to settle them firmly into his boots. The sun-warmed leather felt good against his legs and he was pleased that he felt no remaining dampness in the leather or in the wool of his socks. "It just strikes me that man is a good deal like a stubborn donkey, and I've never known a donkey that didn't walk faster with a carrot held to its nose. If the object of Hell is repentance and the eventual forgiveness of man, it wouldn't hurt to remind him of that by showing him the back door to Heaven on a regular basis."

Carl was still seated, ruefully examining a hole in his sock that allowed his smallest toe on his right foot a great deal too much freedom. He wiggled that toe now at the hunter. "Evidently, this place doesn't heal _all_ ills," he observed, and then sighed as he tucked the errant piggy away and pulled on his boot, lacing it up firmly. When he rose, he released a sigh of contentment. "Heaven or not, this _is_ a very nice place!"

"I'm not about to argue with you there," Van Helsing chuckled and wrapped an arm about the friar's shoulders, pulling him along to the road. "Come on; let's see if we can find a town that has some new socks for you."

"And a proper bath," Carl sighed pleasurably. "With soap and fluffy towels and a warm bed with thick blankets..." Giving a little wriggle of delighted anticipation, Carl hurried his steps.

* * *

Their arrival at the anticipated town was sudden—one moment they had been walking around a tall hill that was covered in white flowers, and in the next moment they came in sight of a huge bustling town. 

Carl stood gawping at the tall buildings and the wagons and horses. The dirt road was suddenly paved with cobbles as it entered the town and people in all manners of dress traversed it. There was the sound of laughter and Carl blinked rapidly against the sting of tears as he realized he'd missed that sound the entire time he'd been in Hell. He was pleased that it wasn't a huge stone city, such as the See. He wanted to enjoy a time of quiet within a small intimate setting that would allow him to rejuvenate at his leisure. The friendly village that appeared before him with its streets lined with flower beds and its houses with twinkling glass windows and butter-creme yellow walls seemed ideal.

He looked up at Van Helsing with a smile. "Just what I was hoping for! A small quiet village!"

The hunter raised his eyebrow but remained silent as he looked over the broad paved road that wound its way through the tall stone buildings so very reminiscent of the See back home. Stained glass shone like a rainbow from the beautiful arched windows and the sun's light touched off the mica in the stone walls like diamonds. Everywhere there were people, but in the large city before them, the arrival of two strangers didn't set off any alarms. They were free to enter, to relax, and to disappear within comforting obscurity while they healed and made plans.

To say that the disparity of Carl's version of what he was seeing and what appeared before Van Helsing was confusing would have been only touching on the hunter's thoughts. Obviously they had a small problem.

He caught Carl's arm and turned the friar to face him so that Carl's back was to the city while Van Helsing could still see it.

"Carl, describe to me the village you just saw."

"What? Gabriel?"

The hunter grimaced, setting his mouth in a firm line. "Never mind why, just describe it."

"Well...it's a village—a very nice village. With flower beds and cobbled streets and children playing and laughing. There are plain houses on the street with plastered walls and glass windows. It seems to be very peaceful."

"Hmm," Van Helsing's mouth quirked in a half smile as he canted his head and looked over the friar's shoulder at the beautiful stone city beyond. "Carl, I think we have a problem."

"Really?" the friar breathed, attempting to turn around to peer behind him only to be held firmly in place by Van Helsing. "What sort of problem?"

"I don't see the same thing as you see," the hunter said flatly. "I see a city, a lot like the See. It's beautiful, with stained glass and tall stone buildings where a man can lose himself without a lot of questions."

"Ohhh," Carl blinked. "Er...this could be awkward."

"You're telling me. Any suggestions?"

Carl sighed, and then shrugged. "Well, it seems we both see what we find most comforting. Of course, our idea of 'comforting' varies somewhat..."

"Somewhat," Van Helsing agreed dryly. "Alright then, for the sake of being able to walk down the same street, what if we agree on a scene and then will it to be."

"'Will it to be'?" Carl asked hesitantly. "Well...I'm not sure how it works so I suppose it's worth a try. What do you...er...want to see?"

"Something we're both familiar with," Van Helsing said firmly.

"The See?" Carl supplied. "Or the Palace."

"The See is fine," Van Helsing said as he too turned his back on the city he'd been looking at. "We can compromise-remember that little inn off the main road into the See? There are houses there and small buildings. And children play in the streets and in the fields. We've stayed in the inn several times, it's comfortable and they know us there."

"Yes," Carl nodded, smiling. "It's a lot like the village I was seeing before. And their wine is excellent!"

With the mental picture firmly in mind, both men slowly turned and raised their eyes to the street before them.

"Mavis! Benerd!" Carl shouted and dashed over the cobbles to throw himself on the two people that stood before them, eyeing them with expressions of relief and humor and a touch of caution.

Van Helsing took in the familiar village street of Dietz as he strode toward the witch and monk with a philosophical resignation. The fact that their friends were there made the change in venue acceptable.

Carl was hugging the witch and monk with the wriggling exuberance of a puppy and he was being hugged in return with equal fervor. Van Helsing arrived at Carl's side as Mavis freed herself and turned to him with her familiar smile.

"So, you have arrived at last. I thought perhaps we would have to come fetch you. You are well?"

"Yes, we're well," Van Helsing smiled. "And you?"

"Ja, I am as I should be. When we arrived here, we were met by friends, though I was not conscious for it. They brought us here."

"Friends?"

Mavis smile became broader as she gestured to the village and the people that were emerging from the doorways to look upon the strangers with smiles. Children peered from around the adult's legs and Van Helsing smiled at them and received grins in return. Carl and Benerd had emerged from their joyful reunion and now looked about with pleasure as well.

"This place, it is Dietz?" Van Helsing asked, and Mavis nodded.

"Ja. And these are my kin and friends."

"Kin?" Carl asked eagerly. "Then Paul?"

"Here, Carl!"

A flying form plowed into Carl, hugging him enthusiastically so that the friar wheezed for breath.

"Be gentle, liebling," Mavis smiled down at the tow-headed six year old attached to Carl's waist.

"Paul!" Carl wheezed, staring down at the boy in amazement.

"In this place, he's Stephan" Benerd explained hastily. "It's possible to take what form best suits you here. It's not a conscious choice, really, more like a fitting of your soul's progress and your emotional needs to your outer form. Stephan never had the time he needed with Mavis...er, his mother. He never had the chance to grow as a child with a family and familiar surroundings that were safe. So now he has that chance."

"That's wonderful!" Carl enthused and hugged Stephan until the boy squeaked and laughed alternately.

Van Helsing turned back to Mavis, meeting her eyes thoughtfully and a little wistfully. "He's this way to be with you? For him to have that chance that must mean that you..."

"Ja," Mavis patted the hunter's arm, squeezing it so he could feel the pressure of her fingers. "Those that met us explained it to us. I will stay here now, in the Summerland, with my son."

Carl looked up then, his eyes round as he looked at the Hunter's sad smile and the witch who still held his arm.

"Mavis...you're..."

"Ja," the witch nodded, and then looked up at Van Helsing as she shook his arm. "You'll tell Gretchen. You'll make sure that she does not grieve too much? Tell her about this place, and about Stephan. I will see her here when she is ready to come and join us."

"I'll tell her."

Mavis exhaled then and smiled broadly. "That is good then," she said with a pleased air as she slid her arm through Van Helsing's. "We have waited on our celebration for your arrival. Now we will enjoy the food and the best lager and you may relax."

* * *

The community emerged and flooded the streets to converge on a huge open field with tall spreading oak trees. The children swarmed up the trees, hanging from their branches by their knees and hands while they called to the adults to watch their antics. Van Helsing and Carl were led to a blanket spread under such a tree and alternately spent their time talking with the adults that joined them while keeping an eye on the children that dangled above them. There were so many children here, and they all seemed happy with bright flushed cheeks and dirty hands. 

With a mischievous air, Mavis called a little girl over who obediently rose from where she had been playing with her doll to approach. She looked to be about six years of age, with brown hair and grubby cheeks. Her doll, which she held by one leg, regarded with the world with matching brown eyes and long brown woolen braids that dragged in the grass. She came to Mavis readily, though her eyes fixed on Van Helsing with open curiosity.

"Gerta, these are my friends Gabriel and Carl," Mavis made the introductions somberly but her mouth twitched as the girl promptly went to Van Helsing and seated herself in his lap by the simple expedient of dropping backwards so that he had to catch her. She settled herself with an air of finality and brought up her doll for his inspection.

"This is Maelwyn," she announced. "She's my best friend. If you like she'll be your best friend too. She's pretty. She likes kisses. Kiss her cheek."

The doll's grubby slightly pop-eyed face was presented expectantly and Van Helsing met Mavis' eyes with a silent promise of payback as he kissed the doll's cheek.

Carl sat with Stephan planted in his lap and both snorted loudly. The little boy yanked some grass up and threw it at Gerta announcing with derision, "He doesn't want to kiss your old doll! Dolls are for little girls, not men."

"But he _does_ like Maelwyn, don't you?" Gerta looked up at Van Helsing anxiously.

He was spared answering by a deluge of children that converged on blanket, squeezing into every available space as they talked over one another and showed the strangers their toys or talked about their feats of daring in the oak trees.

It turned out the children's gathering was due to the arrival of the food, which was served up in hearty portions. In the manner of children everywhere, when the lager was served to the adults it had to be explained more than once why the children were not allowed any. For the meal, both Gerta and Stephan were displaced to allow the guests to eat in peace. Stephan sat beside Mavis but Gerta settled herself firmly beside her new friend; once settled, she proceeded to conscientiously feed her 'baby' two spoonfuls for every one spoonful that she had herself.

The talks they shared ranged from summer crops to fishing to plans to raise a new house. The atmosphere was peaceful and their concerns were those that they had known and shared in their lifetimes before. The three men might have been in any village in Germany and they viewed their surroundings with equal parts of amazement and relief.

When the meal was done, more blankets were spread out for the children to nap on. The adults broke up into small groups to talk or to do the necessary chores. Van Helsing found himself beneath a tall oak with Mavis, Carl, and Benerd, feeling as if they had never been parted. Carl looked over the meadow and smiled with satisfaction. He'd had copious mugs of lager and was currently feeling no pain as he lay with his back to the rough bark of the tree and his bare feet stretched out before him. Mavis was darning his sock while Benerd lay on his back, hands behind his head, looking up into the branches at the flitting patches of blue beyond.

At Mavis' and Benerd's insistence, they'd shared their adventures in Hell after their parting. Carl spent a great deal of time embellishing their run-in with Hyde, accompanying his words with vocal effects and grimaces of disgust. Benerd was suitably impressed; Mavis just smiled.

When Carl wound down, Van Helsing addressed his own curiosity. "These are the Summerland as well as the Elysium Fields?"

"Ja, apparently," Mavis shrugged. "I believe they have many names and many aspects for those that find their way here. Usually, one is met by loved ones or friends and that establishes how things will look."

"Hmph. And the healing of wounds? Carl says the bite marks from Dracula are gone. What about the taint?"

Mavis pursed her lips thoughtfully as she carefully maneuvered the edges of the worn sock about her darning egg before closing the hole with small precise stitches. "Do you wish it to be gone?"

Van Helsing's eyes turned to Carl's and found only the same questions there. There was so much good that had come of that supposed mark of evil. But ultimately, it could prove devastating. And even now, it was changing their behavior, making acceptable what neither man would ever have considered as such before. In the end, it was Van Helsing who spoke for them both.

"It would be best if we lost it," he said firmly. "It's too easy to grow dependent on it, to give in to what it needs."

_SNIP_. The sound of Mavis' small scissors severing the darning thread seemed disturbingly prophetic. She examined the sock for more holes, satisfying herself that it was in reasonable shape before handing it back to Carl. "So, you will give up the gifts rather than suffer the darker aspects. And what of your relationship? If your love of Carl began with the taint compelling you to find a mate, what will happen to your feelings for each other once the taint is gone?"

The two men's startled expressions made the witch raise an eyebrow. "So, you had not thought of this then? Perhaps it is something to think about a little more. There are good and bad aspects to most things, it is not a decision to be made lightly."

"It is your decision in the end. When you decide, it will happen without anyone's help or interference." Mavis rose then, brushing off her skirt with neat economical strokes before looking at the three men. "Later tonight, we will guide you to the opening that will lead you back to the Palace. Between now and then, perhaps you may use the time to think how you will approach your life when you return. Ja?" Patting Van Helsing's shoulder, Mavis turned away and left them to their thoughts.

Benerd looked from Van Helsing to Carl anxiously. He'd grown used to the two men caring for one another. He found comfort in their good natured bickering and their looking after each other. They worried for each other and drew their strength from their friendship. They had that long before the taint had taken hold and if the taint was eradicated; there was no reason to assume that they would lose that. But if the love they felt for one another was because of the taint rather than it being the natural evolution of their friendship...perhaps it _was_ best to dissolve the taint. They would know for sure then.

That assurance would come at such a cost, though.

They remained silent, each with his own thoughts, for some time. The villagers gradually gathered up their belongings and roused the sleepy children, encouraging them to follow back to the village and their beds.

The day had progressed during the intervening hours and the color of the light about them deepened to a darker purple as the first stars appeared. With the first twinkling lights above them, Van Helsing rose and held out his hand for Carl. The friar rose then and the two men walked out over the field, talking quietly. They held hands, drawing comfort from the act as children will. Benerd rolled over onto his stomach with his chin on his arms and watched them for some time. Their voices were a steady murmur too light to hear and their actions gave nothing away.

When the cool comforting light of the stars was warmed by a line of approaching torches, Benerd rose to his feet and called the two men's attention to it. Van Helsing and Carl joined him beneath the oak tree. They stood at ease, waiting for the procession to reach them and when it did, they greeted the villagers with welcoming smiles.

Mavis gestured the three men to join her as she set off across the field, away from the village. They walked for some time, quietly. Carl held Mavis' hand firmly and Van Helsing had his hand about her waist. Benerd walked by Carl's side and looked about with a nostalgic air. He had been here the longest of the three men and he knew that he would miss it. It was a comfort to think that, perhaps, when his time came, he would find his way to this place once again.

Their journey ended at the river. Mavis walked with them to the boats tied to the pier jutting out over the water. They could hear its gentle sounds beneath their feet; each wavelet sparkled beneath the stars.

"The doorway is across the river," Mavis pointed to the far shore where the starlight caught a faint mist rising off the water. "Take one of these boats, whichever you like, and row to the other side. When you arrive, step onto the shore, into the mist, and you will find yourselves at the Palace where we began."

The time for their final separation had arrived. It was harder than expected and each man held Mavis in a tight hug that yielded only reluctantly. Van Helsing was the last, and he held her face between his hands looking down into her eyes for a long time.

"I'll see you again," he said, but his gaze on hers made it a question.

Mavis' lips curled upwards and she tilted her head slightly as she met his gaze. "Ja," she answered finally. "I believe you will."

He nodded and then leaned down and kissed her firmly. When he rose, he smiled at her blushing cheeks.

They waved to the villagers before turning to the boats. With Benerd's girth it was necessary to take one of the larger crafts and even then it settled far down into the water with their weight. Van Helsing and Carl were at each end of the boat with a paddle, Benerd sat in the middle. He was the only one to face back, toward the pier as the craft set out for the other shore, and he waved energetically to the witches until the darkness swallowed them and only the light of the torches remained.

* * *

The journey across the river took some time and neither Carl nor Van Helsing hurried it. Benerd longed to ask them what their decision had been but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. He would wait and see. 

They talked about their return, about entering the catacombs and if they would meet monsters there, left over from the previous rampages. In their current weaponless state that thought wasn't very welcome so they turned their discussions to the pleasure of reaching home. Carl was eager to verify that his lab space was still his. He had plans to regain it if it wasn't that didn't bode well for the monk/rabbi/lama/etc. that had usurped it.

Benerd was looking forward to returning to his work, though he had a surprise for Van Helsing and Carl. He planned to move his lab. It had never bothered him before, to be cut off as he was. But with the adventures he had shared and the company he had perforce kept, he was finding that the thought of his dank and dark lab no longer held any appeal for him. He announced that he planned to try for some space in the main lab, and he smiled at Carl somewhat bashfully.

Carl, perhaps thinking that Benerd was planning to temporarily share his table—and thinking that 'temporarily' could easily turn into permanently—began to think hastily of alternative quarters for the monk.

Van Helsing let their talk wash over him. He found that he enjoyed it. Like Benerd, his ideal was no longer found in solitude. If he were to reenter the Summerland, he suspected he would not see the magnificent stone city that he had originally viewed when he first arrived. That thought pleased him and he held it close for later review.

They arrived at the shore at last, grounding their boat firmly on the gritty soil and wet slippery grass. Carefully, they disembarked; Van Helsing drove a paddle into the ground and tied the boat to it so that it could be retrieved later.

Now, before them the mists waited, rising soft and shimmering over the grass in a tall wall.

Looking at one another, they smiled—and then stepped into it.

_**Finis**_.


End file.
